Charms and Such
by treacleteacups
Summary: The summer after fifth year, Harry goes rogue. A clash of wills! money/creature inheritances! independent!Harry and our favourite blond – in other words, an AU mesh of fanfiction's finest plots. Slash. Slow lead up and a fair bit of angst at first. Reviews and constructive criticism appreciated. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: There's No Place Like Home

Summary: The summer after fifth year, Harry goes rogue. A clash of wills! Money/creature inheritances! Independent!Harry and our favourite blond – in other words, an AU mesh of fanfiction's finest plots. Slow lead up and a fair bit of angst at first. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All characters, original stories et cetera are not mine (like, at all) and are the property of JK Rowling and anyone else who has purchased the rights to distribute/publish/etc. I can't even claim the basic plot lines as my own. Please don't sue me.

 **Warnings : character death, angsty Harry, mature themes, swearing, bad attempts at humour, British spelling, SLASH, and much, much more! **

Author's Note: I'm halfway through this story (already 50,000 words deep my god) and have a general idea of where it's going but am mostly just having fun writing. I'll update about once or twice a week once done proofreading. I don't have an editor/beta for this story so all mistakes are my own and would definitely appreciate any feedback and spelling/grammatical corrections! :)

 **Postcards from Pennsylvania**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: There's No Place Like Home**

Harry watched in despondent apathy as England passed by the window of his uncle's car. London had blurred into small towns and countryside long ago and Little Winging lay not far away. He had tuned out his uncle's grumbling, noting that the man certainly seemed disturbed by the Order's warning at Station 9 ¾ but his reaction was more infuriated than cowed. Harry couldn't care less.

Harry stared blankly ahead, drawn to the repetitive echoes in his subconscious calling out for his attention. Insane laughter filled his mind and he closed his eyes, trying to meditate. _Clear your mind, you imbecilic child!_ Harry's eyes snapped open in horror and he breathed deeply through his nose, trying to calm his shaky nerves.

Finally, after hours of torturous silence interspersed with his uncle's mutters, Vernon Dudley's belching car pulled into the driveway of No. Four Private Drive. Harry carefully stepped out of the vehicle and glanced at the withering house. From the overgrown lawn to the chipping weather boards, it was obvious the house attends had been abandoned since his last summer holiday – a fact that no doubt deeply disgusted his relatives.

"Now the windows boards won't be washed and you'll be allowed to live off our life and blood willy nilly," Vernon harshly muttered under his breath, grinding his teeth with frustration. Harry assumed the man was still agonising that he couldn't exploit his nephew for domestic slavery.

Harry gingerly took Hedwig's cage out of the car, smiling softly at her chirping as she braced herself against the movement. His trunk followed behind Hedwig, thankfully charmed with a potent featherweight charm prior to leaving Hogwarts especially considering Vernon didn't lift a finger to aid his young charge.

Once they slipped into the front entrance, the door slammed shut with a dramatic bang and Harry was pressed against the wall by his uncle's beefy fist.

"You leave that ruddy bird in the damn room, you hear me? No fucking noise, no fucking bird shit – I don't want a goddamn peep out of either of you, you hear?" Vernon snarled venomously, spittle splattering both Harry and Hedwig with ferocity.

"Yes, sir," Harry answered compliantly, eyes unfocused as they held steady over his uncle's shoulder. _Never make eye contact_. Harry now understood with clarity.

"That's better, you little shit," Vernon gloated victoriously, pleased with his nephew's submissiveness. "Now those blokes you call friends aren't going to find out about anything, you hear? Nothing. You clean the goddamn house, you wash the fucking sheets, you tidy the fucking garden, and no one hears a damn thing."

Harry finally turned his attention to his uncle with little interest, normally bright green eyes dulled and hands twitching as he refrained from wiping the spit globs on his cheek. "I don't need to say anything, Uncle Vernon, because they're _always_ watching," Harry crooned softly. Harry didn't need make empty threats – not when it came to this.

Vernon let go of Harry as if burnt, clenching his fists with barely suppressed rage and trembling in purple faced fury.

"Go to your room," the man gritted out, beady eyes darting around the entrance hall in paranoia.

Harry ducked his head in deference and dragged his belonging up the stairs.

* * *

Harry had lived in No. Four Private Drive long enough to know the habits of the neighbourhood. Dusk approached with a heavy haze and vehicles drove in from the city centre, lining up along the street and turning into their respective driveways like a movie set. Suited men piled out of the cars and walked straight into their houses, downtrodden souls with little to live for other than their well-groomed yards, iron pressed ties and comfortably middle-class sedans.

It had been two nights spent poorly at No. Four Private Drive since his _homecoming_ , as he oft thought to himself with bitter amusement. Having to do nothing at his relative's house was once a dream but it had now become a curse. Harry spent the days focusing on clearing his mind, obsessively meditating until he nearly passed out from exhaustion and hunger. At six pm sharp, he sat at the window and watched the ritual of returning workers with dissatisfaction, not quite understanding why he fought so hard to protect these hollow shells of people.

Harry bid his time, knowing that a member of the Order watched him just outside his view, and plotted to break free.

* * *

It had been seven days since Harry had returned from Hogwarts and almost three weeks since he returned from the Ministry. Sirius' loss was felt like a missing limb, cauterised poorly and weeping from infection. Harry couldn't even think the man's name without feeling physical pain sweep his being, ripping his breath away and cramping his chest in vice-like agony.

Harry had sent Hedwig to the Burrow that morning, declaring that she was too bored and too restrained at his relative's and wouldn't they please take care of her? A few gallons for bird food and treats he had sent would surely be appreciated and Harry didn't expect a response; Dumbledore insisted on an embargo of communication while Harry lay shipwrecked in Suburban Hell.

The sun had set a few hours before and the heat had finally begun to abate, Little Winging sighing a collective breath of relief. Windows were thrown open to enjoy the cool breeze down the street, but Harry kept his re-barred window tightly shut. His dim bedroom light had been left off for a few hours now and he quietly mediated in peace as he waited for his little wrist watch from childhood to chime.

At exactly nine o'clock, his little digital watch beeped as programmed and Harry jumped up from his position on the floor. An invisibility cloak was quickly curled around Harry's shoulders and he slipped through his bedroom door, wandlessly unlocked with ease half a second before. Four seconds past nine o'clock, he descended the staircase silently and seven seconds past nine, he had slipped through the front door.

Harry wandlessly cast a noiseless charm on his sneakers, wand tucked carefully in the folds of his robes, and sprinted down the road towards freedom.

* * *

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as the sun rose on the platform of Little Whinging's train station. The morning train rolled noisily into the station and he rose from his cramped position on the gritty tiles. Carefully wrapped in his invisibility cloak, he snuck past the Monday morning flock attempting to bustle their way onto the commuter train and pulled himself onto the high luggage racks with a loftiness acquired by years of Quidditch training and a pinch of Harry Hunting.

The train to London was painfully uncomfortable, but Harry had learned to enjoy less and was out of the opening doors in a flash once the bulk of the crowd has disembarked. Finding the Leaky Cauldron was a chore, but getting in was easy as the early morning wizarding drunks stumbled through the muggle entrance and allowed Harry an opportunity to slip in sight unseen. Once inside, he carefully whispered past the bar and, in what felt like seconds, stood in the great entrance hall of Gringotts Bank.

Getting the goblins' attention while invisible was a little more difficult, but approaching a teller and waving a key in the air (with seemingly no hand attached) appeared to do the trick.

The key was snatched out of the air and the offending goblin sneered in his general direction, jerking his head in a 'come here' motion. Harry followed the scowling creature past the guards and into the gated entrance of the vault carts.

Once sure he could disrobe the cloak without causing a scene, Harry carefully pulled it off and nodded thankfully at the goblin. It merely sneered coldly once more in response and handed him off to the nearest escort. A few muttered words and the teller goblin toddled off and returned with a goblin that Harry recalled from his first visit to Gringotts.

"Mr. Potter," growled the new goblin and Harry gazed down at the vicious creature. "I will be your escort. I am –"

"Griphook, yes. We met a few years ago," Harry interrupted politely, extending his hand to shake.

The goblin merely bared pointy teeth at the proffered appendage and gestured towards the rickety wooden bucket that was to be their ride into the bank's depth. Harry acquiesced, withdrawing his hand quickly and climbing into the cart.

The ride was shorter but more vicious than he recalled from his experience with Hagrid and he wondered if the vaults were moved regularly. Though, to be honest, Harry really didn't care much as long as he could access his gold when needed.

The ride came to a shuddering halt in front of large, dragon smelted iron door. The duo climbed out the cart, which abruptly shot off without notice.

"Mr. Griphook," Harry whispered with soft deference, waiting for his escort to turn to him in response. "May I request conversion of gallons to muggle pounds?"

The goblin grinned, or rather a frightening mockery of one, and nodded. "For a fee," it intoned lecherously.

"Of course," Harry agreed instantly, not wanted to contradict the creature's ferocious gold lust inspired by bank fees.

Upon opening the doors to his vault, Harry was once again reminded that he held the fortune of House Potter in his fingertips. Piles of gold, silver, and jewels leaned to and fro, as if carelessly dropped there by generations before. A thought struck him – and though tasteless, his gut encouraged him to speak.

"Mr. Griphook, would you know if my parents or the Potters as a whole… Left a will?"

Griphook slowly turned to face Harry in the vault, still standing as guard by the iron doors, and narrowed beady eyes at his charge.

"You received notice of _vive voce_ , announcement of the wills, last year and week past did you not?" Griphook growled impatiently.

Harry blinked in surprise. "No, Mr. Griphook. I'm afraid I did not and have not received correspondence from this bank before," he answered carefully, not sure what the goblin meant.

Griphook glared at him, both wizard and goblin sizing the other up for a tense moment, then he growled irritably and waved Harry off. "Finish your deeds, then we speak, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded and went back to collecting gallons.

* * *

Less than a quarter hour later saw Harry sitting in a dark, dank meeting room in the depths of Gringotts Bank, sitting at a decaying wood table. Griphook and an unintroduced goblin of stature muttered angrily in the corner of the room, leaving Harry to quietly meditate. He had become much better at slipping into the mindset of Occlumency, somehow advancing much faster while away from Hogwarts. Though, to be fair, Harry knew it probably had to do with the fact his mind wasn't being broken into on a constant basis.

"Mr. Potter," the unknown goblin suddenly announced. Harry pulled himself out of his haze and tiredly nodded at the goblin to continue. "I am Reinfeng, administrator of wills, wishes and trusts at Gringotts."

"Thank you for meeting me today," Harry replied softly, hoping his poorly groomed etiquette skills would appease the sour faced creature.

"Hmph," the goblin replied, obviously unimpressed. "Griphook has informed me of your lack of communication regarding Gringotts. We find this highly concerning, especially since Griphook is the administrator of your family estate as well as your personal trust. Griphook has been sending you quarterly reports since you reopened the Potter Vault five years ago."

Harry gaped at the goblin in incomprehension.

"You must understand Gringotts takes customer security very seriously," Reinfeng murmured dangerously and Harry nodded rapidly. "Griphook has informed me that you responded to the _vive voce_ invitation last year and the week last, but merely declined attending or sending a representative to the reading of the wills, thus abolishing your right to receive."

Harry tipped his head in confusion. This seemed to irritate the goblins even more.

"Do you understand?" Griphook demanded.

"I'm afraid I don't," Harry whispered softly, ashamed of his lack of understanding of wizarding culture.

"This heir is mongrel," Reinfeng snapped at Griphook, whose hand shot up to silence his companion.

"He is a child still," Griphook responded ferociously and Reinfeng bitterly shut his mouth, looking away.

"We will cease attempts to communicate with you via owl regarding important, private documents," Griphook informed Harry firmly. "But we will continue with basic, falsified bank statement you should have been receiving as to not alert your interceptor. We will retain all statements and letters of true reflections of your accounts and activities onsite and will provide these to you only upon request. Do you agree?"

Harry nodded once more and sighed silently, tired of being yanked around by the demanding bankers.

" _Vive voce_ is the reading of wills, of which the heir of an estate or estates has the right to upon fifteen years of age and should the inheritor agree, they will be declared an emancipated minor and adult in the eyes of Wizarding Law. Declining to attend forfeits rights to any contents of the will. You were alerted of the collective Potter will reading last year, nearly to the date, but obviously this was not received by you and a falsified response was given to decline. A missive was sent to you more than a week ago and once more a falsified response of declination was provided," Griphook growled in his gravelly voice.

Harry stared at the goblin in numbing shock.

"In the case of the Potter will, this will not affect your inheritance as your failure to attend merely meant your inheritance was placed in a trust for future Potter generations, only to be distributed to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry should the last of the Potter line become deceased without an heir. The Black will, however, would have seen your inheritance lost."

"Black… Will?" Harry choked out suddenly, his heart stopping for a moment and then returning to life with a war-drum tempo.

"Yes," Griphook stated ruthlessly, clearly tiring of the conversation. "The reading of the will of Heir Sirius Orion Arcturus Black will commence in four days."

Harry began to tremble and clamped his hands down on either elbow, crossing his arms across his chest in an attempt to contain himself.

"I," Harry began and stopped as his voice cracked. "I would like to attend. Please," he added helplessly.

"Your attendance has been marked," Griphook stated shortly, getting up to rise.

"But – but what if the person intercepting my mail attends as well?" Harry asked quickly.

Griphook and Reinfeng, who had hung back in the shadows until now, looked at one another appraisingly.

"We could read the will now on a special condition release," Reinfeng began slowly. "For a fee, you see." The proffered smirk was slimier than Harry had ever seen but he held onto the offer like a lifeline.

"Of course, anything," Harry begged while gripping the table hard enough to drive splinters into his fingers, suddenly feeling more emotions in that moment than he had in nearly a month.

Harry was desperate to hear the words of his godfather, to hear final words instead of watching him fall wordlessly, laughingly through the veil. Gold and money and estate be damned – Harry knew he was invited to hear the _vive voce_ of the will as Sirius mentioned him directly and a hollow, broken part of his soul would give anything to be able to hear Sirius speak to him once more.

"Two hours, Mr. Potter," Griphook answered firmly. "The fees will be charged to your vault."

"Two hours," Harry agreed breathlessly and then he was whisked out of the room, a handful of gallons instantly converted into more pounds than he'd ever seen, and sent to fend for himself in Diagon Alley as he awaited the last Will and Testament of Sirius Black.


	2. Chapter 2: What's Good For The Goose

Summary: The summer after fifth year, Harry goes rogue. A clash of wills! money/creature inheritances! Independent!Harry and our favourite blond – in other words, an AU mesh of fanfiction's finest plots. Slow lead up and a fair bit of angst at first. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All characters, original stories et cetera are not mine (like, at all) and are the property of JK Rowling and anyone else who has purchased the rights to distribute/publish/etc. I can't even claim the idea of the plot line. Please don't sue me.

Warnings: character death, angsty Harry, mature themes, swearing, bad attempts at humour, British spelling, SLASH, and much, much more!

Author's Note: I don't have an editor/beta for this story so all mistakes are my own and I would definitely appreciate any feedback about the story, issues with plot holes, and spelling or grammatical corrections (though I really hope there aren't any!) :)

* * *

 _"Two hours," Harry agreed breathlessly and then he was whisked out of the room, a handful of gallons instantly converted into more pounds than he'd ever seen, and sent to fend for himself in Diagon Alley as he awaited the last Will and Testament of Sirius Black._

* * *

 **Chapter 2: What's Good For The Goose Is Good For The Gander**

Harry spent a fair while of his free time slinking under his cloak through the shadowy streets of Knockturn Alley. Though his travels into London and time spent at the bank had seen the morning turn into early afternoon, the shady storefronts were only just beginning to stir and open for the day's trading.

A particularly damp, dank corner of the alley was taken by an apocathary which, unlike its Diagon Alley's counterparts, certainly did not advertise its contents or sales. Harry snuck into the shop as best as he could but was outed by a loud chiming spell on the door, alerting the shop keeper of his entrance. Realising the attendant would know of his presence whether under the cloak or not and figuring it would be ideal to his family heirloom a secret, Harry carefully whipped the cloak off and tucked it into his wizarding expanding satchel.

Harry lifted the hood of his outer robes over his head to shadow his face and did his best to stay small and unnoticed, roaming the shelves of the deserted store with careful disinterest. He slowly passed shelf after shelf of dusty bottles, cramped writing on the jars too slanted and tight to read without getting far too close for comfort.

"How may I help you, lad?" Asked a rough Irish brogue, the accent harsh and clipping in the dead silence of the store.

Harry slowly turned to face the shopkeeper, a small, greying man in his late fifties. The man's wrinkled face was accentuated by pursed lips and squinting eyes.

"Polyjuice, one hour," rasped Harry, voice still rough and sore from days without speaking.

"Aye, round the left, there," the man gestured with a nod. "An' 'ow much?"

"Two dozen doses," Harry replied quietly, disturbed by the man's voice echoing in the spacious store.

"Now, lad, tha' seems like a fair amount fer someone so little. I won' be sellin' ta no boys neither, ya hear?"

"Two dozen doses, Polyjuice, one hour strength," Harry repeated calmly, facing the attendant face on but angling his exposed back away from the front door. "For my master," he added softly. The keeper's loud voice gave him a bad feeling, as if he was speaking loud enough for another to hear, but he couldn't leave without.

The little man sized him up, clearly irritated by being ignored but seemingly appeased by the thought of Harry being an apprentice. Finally, after moment of painful indecision, the shopkeeper acquiesced and gestured for Harry to follow him.

Harry was led to a dim little corner of the store and the shopkeeper slid behind a large desk. "Two dozen doses, ya say? Aye, 'ave enough for tha'," he muttered, writing down the request in an enormous accounting book. "Two 'undred and eighty gallon, then."

Harry stood quietly before the man.

"Come on, then!" The man barked, gesturing for Harry to move.

"One fifty," Harry responded firmly.

"Aye, 'old on 'ere boy," the shopkeeper warned with sudden shrewdness, clawed hands griping the end of the desk and leaning over to stick his wrinkled mug close to Harry's hooded face. "You expectin' me to sell ter a minor and then get pushed 'round? Yer a bloody little –"

"One fifty," Harry interrupted, "And I'll come back next fortnight for another round if my master approves."

Harry was immediately grateful for his years of sneaking around and a quick mouth in stressful situations because he wasn't sure where he pulled that answer out of, but it certainly seemed to work.

"Aye?" The shopkeeper murmured, leaning back on his haunches and appraising Harry.

"Yes," Harry responded quietly.

"One fifty, with an oath to return," the shopkeeper demanded.

"One fifty, and I'll return if I'm told to," Harry answered chillily.

The shopkeeper harrumphed and then laughed. "You wee little lad certainly know how to bargain, aye? Fine, fine, business is slow these days anyway," he muttered as he began to wander off for the ingredients.

Harry held back a snort. With the rise in black magic seeping out of the woodwork over the past few months since Voldemort's public resurrection, he was sure business in Knockturn was booming.

"Two dozen bloody doses o' Polyjuice. Anything else, lad?" The shopkeeper barked as he returned from the depth of the store, bringing with him a decisively fresher bell jar of Polyjuice than that on display, though it was pretty difficult to tell with the pus-coloured, chunky potion.

"Two dozen vials," Harry requested patiently.

The man cackled and procured the vials. "Strange wee boy, ain't ya? Where yer master bein', anyway?"

Harry tilted his head at the man's questions and tossed a bag of gallons at him. The man caught the bag with surprising deftness and counted as Harry deposited his purchase in his bag.

"One 'undred and sixty gallons," the shopkeeper announced, ticking a box in his book. Turning towards Harry, he snarled. "Now get out."

Harry couldn't move fast enough.

* * *

While he was in Diagon Alley, Harry completed his Hogwarts shopping. While he had yet to receive his letter informing him of his OWLS (and subsequent NEWT courses), he figured it would be beneficial to purchase all the reading for the course classes offered and do a bit of extracurricular reading. Fortunately, the shopkeepers knew the curriculum requirements and book requests far before students as Harry only needed to mention he was a sixth year (and a flash of his face helped here and there) and suddenly a pile of school supplies was being rung up at the till.

As he was quickly realising, he would need to stop depending on Hermione as a fountain of knowledge. He couldn't bare it if he forced her to come along another one of his quests through guilt and fear for his wellbeing. Harry swallowed a lump of guilt at the back of his throat as he recalled Hermione barely breathing in the hospital wing, mediwitches and wizards fluttering around her as they tried to heal the horrors of the Department of Mysteries.

He finally wrapped up the last of his shopping, bidding adieu to Madam Malkin of _Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions_ , sure to thank her profusely for the self-tailoring robes, slacks and shirts. Though he knew instinctively that he wouldn't grow much bigger than his current petite frame (and mentally cursing years of poor nutrition the entire time), he couldn't convince the woman that he was not on the edge of a growth spurt like his peers. However, the self-tailoring attire was a nice touch to an admittedly bland wardrobe and, with a bit of luck, he wouldn't need to return until well after graduating Hogwarts.

As the minutes counted down on two hours, Harry returned to Gringotts with a growing pit of dread in his stomach. Hearing the last words of Sirius seemed so vital in the moment, but as it loomed closer Harry found himself clenching his nails into his fists and hunching on his way to the bank under his thick, undetectable cloak.

Reinfeng and Griphook were awaiting his arrival at the main entrance and seemed to instinctively be aware of Harry's presence as they quickly joined his step beside him and escorted him to the large entrance doors of the meeting rooms.

Once they were safely tucked away from prying eyes, Harry removed his cloak and tucked it into his almost full expanding knapsack, quickly removing it from the line of sight of the goblins. He certainly didn't trust that salacious glint in their eyes upon seeing the ancient artefact.

"Sit, Mr. Potter," Griphook barked, causing Harry to drop into the nearest seat. Griphook and Reinfeng moved to sit directly across him at the long meeting desk. A single piece of parchment lay before the goblins, words undecipherable from Harry's position. Griphook stood and cleared his throat, ignoring Harry's obvious tremors.

"Black or Potter?" Griphook asked bluntly, as if asking if he preferred coffee or tea. Harry swallowed, not ready to hear either.

"Could – would it be possible to request a copy of the Potter will to read later?" He asked with trepidation. "For a fee, of course," he added upon seeing Griphook smirk darkly.

"Of course, Heir Potter. Heir Black's will is holographic and though Reinfeng has verified its validity, we cannot allow a copy of the man's writing to be distributed. However, the Potter Will was scribed by Reinfeng himself approximately seventeen years ago to this date, so you may receive a transcript for your records. Your acceptance of Heir James Potter and Heiress Lily Potter's Will has been noted and a copy will be provided to you," Griphook agreed, snapping his fingers. A large, worn document on the table rolled up and disappeared with a flash.

"We gather here today to read the final Will and Testament of Heir Sirius Orion Arcturus Black," Griphook began without warning, jumping straight in. Harry felt his shoulders droop as a wave of despair hit his chest violently.

"I, Sirius Orion Arcturus Black, Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black and member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, hereby decree the following: All of my titles, political seats, assets, belongings, estates, vaults, heirlooms, and shares are hereby bequeathed in name, right and ownership to my godson, Harry James Potter."

Harry gaped openly at Griphook, who seemed overall bored with the entire situation and droned on in his gravelly voice.

"In the event Harry James Potter is unable to accept any or all of the willed, the aforementioned are to be converted into a trust for the Education, Welfare and Protection of Werewolves. The trust is to be managed by Lupin Remus, of whom shall be the sole beneficiary until he nominates those he sees fit to share the responsibilities and benefits of said trust." At this, Griphook appeared to have eaten a particularly sour lemon, but he continued without pause.

"In the event anyone other than Harry James Potter is invited to hear this Will and Testament, I request all remaining leave bar Harry Potter himself and those Harry requests to retain as counsel for the following." At this, Griphook looked up at Harry, who nodded at Reinfeng and gestured for Griphook to continue.

"Harry, my dearest pup and godson," Griphook began, but Harry had stopped hearing the goblin's voice. Sirius was suddenly in his hear, whispering the words and seeping into his soul, filling it with a warmth he hadn't felt in an era. "I love you like a son. While I would love you alone for the fact you are the product of my best friends, you are so much more than that. You believed in me when you knew nothing of me, you trusted my judgement and loved me faultlessly. You have the compassion and intelligence of your mother, the cheek and curiosity of your father, and the brave lion heart of both combined.

"For some reason, I am not here and for that I wish nothing more than you hold you one more time, ruffle your hair and call you Little Prongs. But in the eventuality that I could not be here for you, and should you be receiving this message prior to your sixteenth birthday, I wished to leave an opportunity for you to decide upon. An important matter that I wished to discuss with you in person but would still like to extend now that I am no longer with you.

"The Black family no longer has a direct Heir, something that you know very well I could care less for. But as the final Heir to a dying family of a most Noblest and Ancientest and bestest House (at this, Harry snorted), I have been given one gift by my ancestral-hood – the ability to blood adopt."

At this, Reinfeng gasped uncharacteristically and even Griphook seemed to balk. Griphook shook himself and read on, eyes squinting and pulling the parchment closer as he read with concentration.

"You are unfamiliar with pureblood culture and custom, so to give you a brief introduction in something that is more understood by oral lore than in book and deeply important to our civilisation, please consider the following before you agree.

"Blood adoption by an ancient dark family is strong blood magic; not necessarily bad or good but just strong blood magic. Which in itself has been deemed evil in many ways, but from your own experience you know how beautiful and powerful it can be. You will not only become a Black in name, but in blood and magic. And you will become partially my son. You will _always_ be James and Lily's boy, but you'll be mine too.

"Think it over, learn, and seek council, pup. I have charmed a vial of blood and left it in my vault in the eventuality I could not be here today to ask you this myself. I hereby give the goblin Griphook express permission to complete the ceremony in the event you agree. I have arranged for you to meet with a pureblood etiquette governess for the month prior your sixteenth birthday – go to her, seek knowledge and understanding of my offer as this magic is rarely found in textbooks. The spell and blood will expire on midnight of your birthday as you will come to magical maturity and blood magic in this form will no longer work.

"I love you Harry. Though I can't be with you now, I will always be with you in spirit, whether or not you decide to go forward with this. Remember that I will always be on the other side of the mirror, of life's thin veil, ready to welcome you when it's time. Now it's my time and, to be honest, I can't wait to see Lily and James once more."

* * *

The train back to Little Whinging went by in a flash. Harry clutched his bag and note from Gringotts, confirming details of their next meeting to go over the enormous estates that encompassed the House of Black and House of Potter.

A letter had been owled to the governess Sirius wrote of, requesting an audience at her earliest convenience. Harry numbly recalled that he was to return to Gringotts to receive his reply.

Once the train pulled into the grotty station of Little Whinging, the hour was nearing six and he hurried to Private Drive. The Order patrol shift change was every three hours and he knew that for those few precious seconds, he could sneak in behind his large uncle unnoticed as the man returned from the day's work.

Once safely in his room, Harry's mind switched off, unbearably full and shocked numb from the day's events. He collapsed into his bed and fell into a deep sleep.


	3. Chapter 3: Where There's a Will

Summary: The summer after fifth year, Harry goes rogue. A clash of wills! money/creature inheritances! Independent!Harry and our favourite blond – in other words, an AU mesh of fanfiction's finest plots. Slow lead up and a fair bit of angst at first. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All characters, original stories et cetera are not mine (like, at all) and are the property of JK Rowling and anyone else who has purchased the rights to distribute/publish/etc. I can't even claim the idea of the plot line. Please don't sue me.

Warnings: character death, angsty Harry, mature themes, swearing, bad attempts at humour, British spelling, SLASH, and much, much more!

Author's Note: I don't have an editor/beta for this story so all mistakes are my own and I would definitely appreciate any feedback about the story, issues with plot holes, and spelling or grammatical corrections (though I really hope there aren't any!) :)

* * *

 _Once safely in his room, Harry's mind switched off, unbearably full and shocked numb from the day's events. He collapsed into his bed and fell into a deep sleep._

* * *

 **Chapter 3: Where There's a Will, There's A Way**

The next morning, Harry awoke at the crack of dawn and he set about organising his belongings. Unlike years before, Harry was allowed to keep his trunk in his room rather than stuffed in the cupboard under the stairs and he pulled out everything he owned to lay on the floor. Candies, socks, broken quills, scraps of parchment and everything a teenage boy owned under the sun (sans Dean and Seamus' collection of … _entertainment_ ) lay scattered in his room haphazardly and he frowned at the odd collection of junk.

Harry tossed out the rubbish and sorted his clothing, grateful that he could finally throw away the last of Dudley's hand-me-downs. He carefully organised his trunk, which he had bought from a catalogue last year upon Hermione's encouragement. Seeing Mad Eye Moody's truck (or, rather, his imposter's) had inspired him to have a trunk of his own that could become a mobile house. Harry would never agree to sleeping in his trunk (the thought made him feel sick) but at least he could organise his belongings into one featherlight portable box.

Harry carefully cleaned and organised the trunk's little library, putting away his fifth year and new sixth year texts. Potion ingredients were stored away, some clothes hung up to prevent wrinkles and others folded, his Quidditch gear wiped and carefully sorted – Harry winced. He wondered if the Frog Woman had destroyed his Firebolt. The thought made this stomach clench and he shielded away from the idea.

At last, Harry was organised. Thankfully he had a very small wardrobe and collection of school supplies, which made up the entirety of his worldly possessions. _Not anymore_ , Harry realised with a jolt as he recalled yesterday's events.

Harry had purchased a small satchel backpack as well with expanding powers (the usefulness never ended) and he lifted his truck, tucking the mouth of the satchel around its edges and trying to squish the much larger trunk into the little bag. At last, he gave one final heave and his truck was swallowed into the depths of the small backpack.

He wandered around his room and tided, banishing dust, Hedwig's feathers, and uneaten meals with a wave of his hand. Once the room was appropriately clean and not looking so much like a hovel, Harry sat on the floor, eyes closed and legs crossed, and cleared his mind.

* * *

Getting Dudley to obey was not as easy as it looked. The boy had grown into something of a mammoth over the past year and was nearly as wide as he was tall. Harry, being the shortest student of his year and scrawnier than even a few second years, looked down at the dumb boy and frowned.

Dudley was certainly not the sharpest of the bunch and it showed, with small, emotionless eyes staring dully ahead and a mouth perpetually hung open in stupendous stupidity. He stood awkwardly, slightly bent from boxing, his muscles clearly swollen and straining from what Harry assumed to be a rather nasty steroid habit.

Harry snuck down the top steps of the stairs just as Dudley entered the house an hour before dinner. It was nearly six o'clock and Harry needed the boy's attention quickly, especially considering Harry wasn't even sure if this was going to work.

"Psst," he whispered, "Dudley! Up here."

His cousin turned to him slowly, looking up the darkened staircase. Harry beckoned his cousin and backed up to his room slowly, gesturing the boy to follow him with each step. Dudley looked frightened, but also a bit intrigued, and followed his cousin back into the little bedroom.

Harry carefully snapped the door shut and Dudley was suddenly crowding his space.

"Listen, Harry, if you think you can do your freaky magic stuff on me, then you have another thing coming! I'll punch your living daylights out before you can do that stuff to me," Dudley was muttering angrily, acting like a trapped animal in a corner, about to fight his way out.

"It's not that," Harry sighed. "I have a deal I want to make with you."

Dudley seemed to consider this, leaning back on his haunches and appraising his younger cousin, though Harry figured the boy was thinking at a glacial pace as he failed to respond.

Harry forged on. "I can't be here anymore. I have things I need to do. But there are people who expect me to be here, to stay and be good until the end of summer. They're watching," Harry explained, watching his cousin shrink under the thought of being watched by _his kind._

"They need to see evidence that I'm here at least once a day. No one can come near the house, even my kind, unless they mean no harm," Harry continued quickly, seeing that Dudley was following, if just.

"You need someone to pretend you're here?" Dudley asked, confused.

"Yes, good," Harry approved, if a little patronising. "But I need something a little more. Once a night, at six o'clock, I sit at the bedroom window and look out. Then I'll move around the room and do some stuff. But for the rest of the day, I stay still and don't do anything so the watchers know they won't see me for the rest of the day."

Dudley seemed perplexed. "You don't do anything?" He asked, dumbfounded.

"I mediate," Harry answered shortly, hoping to get to the point. "What I need you do to is pretend to be me for one hour a night."

Dudley seemed to be unimpressed and made a motion to push Harry aside and leave the room, but Harry added quickly, "For a fee, of course."

That seemed to gather Dudley's attention and he turned his beady eyes back to his cousin. "How much?" He grunted out, eyes roving around the bedroom as he looked for a hidden stash.

"I'll tell you where the money is once I show you how you're going to do it," Harry responded calmly, watching his cousin's reaction with guarded eyes. He knew it was painfully immoral, but he wordlessly weaved a bit of wandless compulsion onto Dudley, worried that the bully would just knock him over and turn over the room looking for the reward.

"Oh fine, whatever," Dudley agreed, rolling his eyes.

"We'll do the first test tonight, to see if you can handle it," Harry murmured in suppressed relief, glancing at the time on the little digital watch on his wrist. He led Dudley over to the desk, carefully positioned as far away from the window as possible, and pulled out the small desk drawer. Twenty vials of putrid liquid clinked together as they rolled into view. Harry unstoppered one and picked up a small hair from a pile in the drawer, dropping it in.

The liquid hissed, bubbled and oozed, but thankfully didn't splash over the vial lip. Dudley peered into the bottle suspiciously, looking at the slightly smoking ivory-turned-gold potion and pursed his lips in thought.

"You drink this, spend a few minutes at the bedroom window, totter around the room for an hour, then you're done. Once a night. One hundred pounds per vial," Harry stated firmly.

Dudley looked at his cousin in surprise. "A _hundred pounds_ per vial? But… but there must be…" He turned to count the vials and Harry huffed out a laugh.

"Twenty. Two thousand pounds. If you follow through, that is," Harry crooned.

Dudley's head whipped around to look at his cousin in awe. "Did you steal that money?" He asked, excitedly.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Dudley, I know that you think my parents were unemployed drunks who died in a car crash but that's basically the furthest thing from the truth. Even if they were unemployed drunks who died in a car crash, they also happened to be extremely wealthy, well-off drunks with a family fortune."

Dudley looked at his cousin in complete confusion. "But dad says you're living off us for free like an urchin–"

"Yes, I know what Uncle Vernon says," Harry cut him off ruthlessly. "But from what I understand, and if my bank statements are to be believed, my family trust has been transferring money into your mother's bank account since the moment I was deposited on your doorstep. Don't you wonder why I wasn't immediately taken to the nearest fire station or orphanage?"

Dudley's mouth opened in surprise and his chubby cheeks trembled as his mouth worked, but no words came out.

"Every time you do this, you will be able to withdraw one hundred pounds from my bank account. I set up a joint account which will be topped up daily; I'll provide you the details after this first test. If you do as I ask, I'll know. I'll top of the account. If you choose to withdraw every couple of days, that's fine. The money will be accessible anytime, but will only be there if you do as I ask." Harry repeated once more, staring apathetically at his cousin as he waited for an answer.

"I want more," Dudley began, clearly figuring he could shake down his cousin a little harder.

"No," Harry bluntly stated in a chilling tone. "You get what you get. And, just remember, you do this for me and I'll be in your debt. I am set up to become quite possibly the richest person in Britain on my sixteenth birthday. We have a lifetime ahead of us for you to call on that debt," Harry said, a tone of finality ringing in this voice (and thanking Professor McGonagall for that particular skill).

"Now it's almost six. Drink this, or don't. It's up to you if you want to take a once in a lifetime deal," Harry stated, holding up the vial of gold as if he couldn't care less. The trick with Dudley was to always, always have the upper hand – the boy responded well to power, not empathy.

Dudley quickly grabbed the vial in his beefy hand and downed it, gagging but not spilling a drop. He looked at Harry with a puzzled expression on his face and, like Harry had seen over the years before, his skin began to twist and bubble as he shifted into another form. To his merit, Dudley didn't cry or moan or even scream – he merely stared at Harry with frightened tiny eyes, motivated by greed.

Harry realised he probably should have tested the potion before forcing it upon his muggle cousin, especially considering where he purchased it from. _Oh well_ , he thought as his cousin shook and changed form. Waste not, want not.

After a few agonising minutes of transformation, Harry was finally looking straight at a mirror image of himself. For the first time, he realised what other people saw when they looked at him. He was small, but not exactly proportionally so. He looked stunted, from what he assumed was years of poor nutrition and being trapped in a dark cupboard under the stairs. Both of his parents were quite tall, so his short stature of 164 cm was obvious as some of his proportions appeared to be made for a larger body. Pale, sallow skin wrapped around his too thin body, his bones sticking out in obvious protrusion, even underneath all those layers of Dudley's clothes.

Tight, wiry muscles laced his body, making him look like a wildling left to hunt for his own, away from civilisation and slowly starving to death. His hair was messy beyond belief, making him look wind swept and wild. Bright green eyes peered back at himself, a jarring shade of green that reminded him of a certain spell. The thought made him cringe.

All in all, Harry processed the image he projected and realised why it was so easy for the Daily Prophet to characterise him as an insane attention seeker – and for the wizarding and witching public to accept it so quickly – as he looked even more mad than Professor Trelawney and Luna Lovegood combined.

Sighing, Harry nodded to Dudley and figured he could dwell on his despairing appearance at a later date. Harry pulled off his glasses and handed them to Dudley, encouraging the boy to put them on. Hesitantly, Dudley agreed and perched the thick lenses on the bridge of his nose, blinking as his weak eyes came into focus. Harry suppressed an exasperated groan – his eyes seemed distorted and much bigger than natural behind those round frames. Merlin, he was such a mess.

"Good, you look spot on," Harry finally spoke, breaking the silence. Dudley seemed perplexed, obviously unsure of what he looked like at all. Harry figured it would be best to not explain Polyjuice to Dudley lest the boy suffer a panic attack, though Harry reasoned that his cousin should have figured it out seeing as he'd shrunk a fair few inches and lost nearly a dozen stone.

"Don't let Vernon or Petunia know about this, don't let them see you or hear you or even get suspicious," Harry whispered quickly, gesturing for his cousin to sit in the chair by the window. "Look out the window, watch the people come home," he continued, guiding his slightly trembling cousin through the steps. "Keep calm, Dudley, you're doing fine."

A few tense minutes later, Harry allowed Dudley to retreat from the window.

"What do you do for an hour?" Dudley whispered conspiratorially.

"I read, remake the bed, stretch – I generally make a scene for the watchers without trying to look like I am," Harry answered honestly.

Dudley sat down on the bed as he looked down at his cousin, who sat across the room with his back braced against the wall and legs sprawled out before him. "It's kind of… Perverted, you know?" Dudley whispered back, clearly disturbed at the thought of being watched by unseen eyes.

"Yeah, kind of," Harry answered softly, staring at a blurry image of a small spider spinning a web in the corner of the ceiling. "But that's my life."

"I don't feel well," Dudley whispered back, shifting and rubbing his arms – or rather, Harry's.

"How so?" Harry asked, returning to focus on his cousin as best he could without his glasses.

"I'm really hungry, and my stomach hurts and my body just aches… And my head really hurts," Dudley elaborated quietly, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"Yeah, well, again," Harry answered in dark humour. "That's my life."

After that, the boys fell into a heavy silence. Dudley would stand every so often and walk around to study the room and stretch his legs, but would promptly return to sit on the bed after a few minutes.

"Seriously, this sucks," Dudley finally announced, his voice a little too loud for comfort.

Harry rolled his eyes and cracked his neck, checking the time on his digital watch. "You have another twenty minutes. You're doing fine," Harry whispered shortly.

"Will… Will I ever go back to being me?" Dudley asked, voice much quieter and a little shaky.

"Of course," Harry answered, suddenly feeling a little empathetic for his cousin's plight and confusion. Just because his life was a living hell, interspersed with insane adventures and painfully heavy obligations, didn't exactly mean he could thrust the same madness on another and expect them to handle it as well. Well… Considering what he did to Professor Dumbledore's office not too long ago, he wasn't handling that well either.

"You'll only be in this form for an hour each night," Harry elaborated. "Then you'll be you again. Simple."

Dudley seemed mollified by Harry's answer and returned to fiddling with his fingers. "So," the boy began, looking as if he had finally been broken by boredom and needed to talk, if only to his crazy younger cousin. "What happened to you?"

Harry squinted at Dudley, not sure what expression the boy was sporting as the distance from Harry's eyes blurred most of the boy's features. "What are you talking about?" Harry asked guardedly.

"When you first started going to… That place," Dudley began painfully slow. "You used to come back pretty happy. But… Then you came back a couple years ago, freaking out about that guy Cedric or whatever his name was. And this year you look… Dead," Dudley ended weakly, looking down at his fidgeting fingers.

Harry didn't answer, but looked ahead at his cousin with guarded confusion. "What's it to you?" He finally asked, voice sharp and critical.

"Nothing!" Dudley barked, then shrunk in on himself at the sudden noise of his outburst. "It's just weird. If I could do the stuff you could, I would be pretty happy, I think," the boy admitted quietly, almost inaudibly.

Harry stared at Dudley in open surprise. Dudley scowled and looked away. "Don't look at me like that," the older boy snapped, albeit quietly. "If you thought for your whole life that you were better than someone, faster, stronger, better at making friends… And then one day, you found out that this person has all this power at their fingertips and is better than you'll ever be, and they don't even talk to you anymore because you aren't even a threat or someone they think about after all those years, it kind of fucking sucks," Dudley said harshly, voice cracking.

Harry looked down at the floor, not understanding where this was coming from. For years, he had loathed Dudley and wallowed in misery at the prospect of being stuck with the Dursleys for years, but once he had discovered he was a wizard he had been elated. He recalled the feeling of knowing he could transcend his muggle family and once he turned seventeen; he wouldn't even need to remember they existed. Dudley thrived on power, knowing where he was in the totem pole of the household. And, in a way, even Uncle Vernon feared Harry (especially after the Aunt Marge incident), so he realised he would appear to be 'on top' in Dudley's eyes.

"It's not that I hate you," Harry slowly whispered, sounding out each word as he spoke. "And it's not like I just decided one day that you're scum and I'll never think of you again, though I can't say the same for your parents." At this Dudley sneered but Harry forged on. "I wish I could enjoy what I have, this gift. And, to be honest, it's in you as well. But it's dormant. We call your kind Muggles, people without magical control." Dudley flinched at the detested "M" word and Harry rolled his eyes at Dudley's dramatics.

"But everything has a bit of magic in it," Harry whispered. "Even you. Muggles have children all the time and sometimes those children are magical, like my friend Hermione. I'm not sure why – though I guess there's books and stuff about it. But I've been… Destined to sacrifice. I guess the closest analogy I can think of that you'll understand, muggle analogy that is, is Jesus."

At this, Dudley scoffed. "You think you're Jesus?" He laughed deprecatingly.

"No," Harry answered honestly. "But just listen. Jesus was prophesised to lead the people, yeah? To fight the sins of mankind and free everyone from hell. I just found out that there's this prophesy about me. In my world, we have people called Seers who tell pieces of the future. Sometimes it comes true the way we think it will, sometimes it's a little different than we thought the answer was, but it always happens. The prophesy about me states that I'm supposed to fight a horrible, powerful man. I guess you could say he's the devil in this analogy. He wants all people like you dead, muggles and people who fight for muggles, or sinners in his twisted view. Sinning just by existing. I'm supposed to be the one to defeat him or die trying. Basically, I'm destined to be his only real competition. It's kind of hard to focus on you or hate you when I have this crazy asshole who is pretty much the wizarding version of Hitler and a league of his freaky Nazi followers trying to hunt me down day in and day out."

Dudley was stunned for a moment then his expression turned dark and frightened. "Will they come here too?" He asked, fearfully.

Harry sighed. "They can't find us here," he answered. "My mother died fighting this man. She sacrificed herself to save me, which enacted a magical protection called a 'blood ward'. This ward has been placed around the house of my familial blood, from what I understand, so we're basically hidden from magical kind. Ironically, the magic you guys loathe is the only thing keeping you from being murdered."

"Is that why those people are watching you?" Dudley asked suddenly, showing a little more intelligence than Harry originally thought his cousin capable of.

"They're supposed to be protecting me, but I think it's more about keeping me hidden in one place so they don't have to worry about their 'Chosen One' dying before he can face the Dark Lord," Harry murmured darkly.

"I'm sorry," Dudley whispered.

The apology took Harry by such surprise that he could only gape openly at his cousin, a boy he had always assumed had literally the empathy of a rock. Before Harry could say anything, Dudley began to shake and twitch, the warning signs of the Polyjuice wearing off.

"Come here!" Harry whispered fervently. "You can't let them see you change."

Dudley stood and tottered over to Harry in a darkened section of the bedroom, shadowed by a large bookcase. After a few stressful moments of shape-shifting, Dudley was back to his normal giant self, once more filling out his clothes and towering over Harry.

Harry nodded at his cousin as his glasses were returned.

"Here, take your first payment in cash," Harry whispered, handing Dudley a crisp hundred pound note.

Dudley stared at the cash with amazement. "Thanks, Harry," he whispered back, brusque but genuine.

"Don't mention it – seriously," Harry added, giving his cousin the most piercing look he could muster. "Here's the bank account details," he continued as he gave his cousin a folded note. "Just do as we practiced, don't come out before you've changed, and don't let anyone see you transform. The money will be in the account each day if you do as I say. And if Petunia or Vernon ask where I am during the day, just say that my kind have sentenced me to parole for the summer days – they'll believe it straight away. If they catch you going into my room, just say that you've learnt some new pranks and are going to test them on me."

Dudley nodded, eyes cast on the floor.

"And seriously, Dudley," Harry whispered. "Thank you."

Dudley looked up and smiled softly, a look Harry had never seen on his normally brutish cousin before, and Harry realised that this might actually work.


	4. Chapter 4: Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

_Dudley looked up and smiled softly, a look Harry had never seen on his normally brutish cousin before, and Harry realised that this might actually work._

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow (Or Not)**

Harry mounted the hand mirror Sirius gave him to the wall of his bedroom with despair. Leaving the mirror at No. Four Private Drive felt tantamount to abandonment. The construction grade double sided tape nicked from Uncle Vernon's rusting tool shed held steadfast on the wall; he was sure any attempt to remove it would strip the wall of its horrid wallpaper. After a close to an hour of wandlessly trying to cast a notice-me-not charm on the mirror, he finally felt the magic take place and he collapsed on his thin mattress, readier than ever to leave his prison cell.

At four seconds to nine, Harry cast his best attempt at a wandless Alohomora on the door. It quietly unbolted from the outside and he slipped past the frame, thankful his door could open and close out of view of the window. Cloak covering his frame and a noiseless, weightless charm muffling his feet, he was down the stairs in a flash and out the front door, taking advantage of the Order's few moments of distraction during patrol change.

He knew Mad Eye Moody would want to take the three am to six am charge, as those hours seemed to be some strange opportunity for witches and wizards to commit their bizarre crimes (it reminded him of the 'witching hour' from his Roald Dahl story books as a child) so he safe from _constant vigilance_ during this hour.

Once he passed the wards, the strange bubble of weight he had become accustomed to noticing and feeling over the summer, he began to sprint down Private Drive once more. His knapsack floated weightlessly on his back and his shoes made no noise in the late hours around the neighbourhood. A few open windows blared the evening news and a dog barked in the distance; Harry took comfort in the distracting noise.

Once he had run for a good fifteen minutes, and stopped to crouch and reclaim his breath, Harry pulled out a small vial of Polyjuice potion from his pocket. He had kept four for himself, knowing that his own glamour charms wouldn't be up to scratch if done wandlessly, and tipped a brown, greasy strand of hair from Dudley's head in the concoction. Unlike earlier, this potion seemed to roil and boil angrily, spitting and spilling slightly over the edges as it mixed with Dudley's DNA.

The Polyjuice finally ended in a smelly potion remarkably similar to Gregory Goyle's. Pinching his nose, Harry tipped the nasty substance down his throat and was surprised to find that, while it looked and smelt like Goyle's in second year, it was bitter but not nearly as putrid and had a soft, nearly absent aftertaste. Shrugging mentally, he braced himself for the transformation and shuddered uncomfortably as the potion took effect.

Once he had finally finished transforming into his obese cousin (and ever more grateful for Madam Malkin's self-tailoring robes), Harry stashed away his invisibility cloak and raised his wand in the air. A few stressful minutes later in which Harry wasn't sure if he could even summon his transportation in this form, a roaring noise alerted Harry of the oncoming Knight Bus.

An enormous beast of a bus stopped with alarming alacrity at his feet, the smoke belching, purple three-decker humming with magical energy. Two small doors swung open to the face of Stan Shunpike leaning over the railing to peer out into the night.

"'Ello!" Chirped Stan, who studied him critically.

"Hello," Harry answered politely, carefully swallowing his surprise at hearing Dudley's deep voice echoing out of his chest. "Are you heading into London this evening?"

Stan burst into laughter and waved the boy in. "Aye, boy, we're 'heading inta London'," he chuckled alongside Ernie, making Harry blush uncomfortably. "Eleven sickles, that is."

Harry handed over the money obediently. "Highbury Fields, Islington, if you please," he requested. A ticket was quickly shoved into his hands and Harry dashed to take a seat on a nearby bed before the Knight Bus took off.

It appeared not being Harry Potter saved him the chatter of the talkative conductor and grunts of the concentrating driver, Ernie. Stan chose to natter on to some rather green looking passenger, who held a mug of hot chocolate in his shaking hands and wore a good portion of the sloshing beverage on his lapels.

Holding onto the side bracing of the bus, Harry watched patiently as the bus zipped to and fro through busy downtown London, arriving in the bustling city within moments of departing Surrey. He was once again grateful for his _never-mind-the-weather_ Quidditch training, for the sharp movements would have nauseated him in any other state. He was lulled into a state of meditation, glad to be mostly invisible to the other passengers despite his enormous size in the skin of Dudley Dursley.

The great purple bus finally heaved to a stop outside of muggle London's Highbury Field park and Harry unsteadily dismounted from the vehicle. With a nod from the conductor and driver, the Knight Bus shot off into the night, leaving Harry alone in a dimly lit street alongside a darkened city park. Once he was in the shadows and sure no prying eyes watched him in the night, he wrapped the invisibility cloak around his shoulders and walked the few remaining blocks to the entrance of No. 12 Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Grimmauld Place was both what he remembered and not. After sneaking in the front door as quietly as possible while under his cloak, he sidestepped the troll leg umbrella stand and tiptoed past the fluttering curtains of Walburga Black's portrait. He had honestly expected the Order of the Phoenix to still be exploiting the safe house as headquarters. But silence met his ears and dust covered the entrance carpet where it normally was cleared by the passing of multiple feet.

Harry realised with a start that Grimmauld Place was indeed his now. He had originally come to seek Sirius' mirror and then continue on, hiding from the Order during his break to freedom. But since the house now technically belonged to him, and he had never explicitly given permission for Dumbledore or the Order to use the house, he supposed they were momentarily blocked from entering despite knowing the Fidelius'd house address. While he once would have considered that the Order refrained from entering the house out of respect until permission was granted, he was slowly coming to understand that Dumbledore did what he thought best, what he considered _for the greater good,_ and those on his side obeyed no matter the cost nor toll.

The thought weighed on him heavily.

Harry jumped suddenly as his skin began to bubble and shift, realising with a start that an hour had already passed since leaving the streets of Surrey. He leant against the wall in the hallway, bracing himself against the rough transition into his own form while safety hidden under his cloak. Once his bones and flesh had ceased shifting, Harry carefully made his way up the staircase, having no interest in going down to the kitchens and chancing an encounter with the sullen Kreacher.

 _The monstrous little house elf is probably still rejoicing the death of his master_ , Harry thought bitterly as he climbed the stairs to the highest floor of the house.

It never ceased to enrage Harry that Kreacher still lived while Sirius was gone. That the little creature held together with hatred and bigotry roamed the earth while Sirius had simply disappeared, not a body to bury nor a funeral to be had.

The thought shocked Harry so deeply that he froze on the stairs mid-step.

A funeral.

Had there been a funeral? Why hadn't he considered this before? Even just a symbolic goodbye. A burial without a casket.

Harry felt the walls closing in on him, the shrunken elven heads leering closer and closer with every passing second.

 _A funeral._

Did the Order host a funeral? Would he have even been invited, especially considering he was the sole reason Sirius had died? The reason brave and gentle Neville had his face and father's wand smashed, why innocent Luna was hunted and stunned, why his adopted brother Ron was confunded and then lashed by those horrible brains and adopted little sister Ginny had smashed her ankle, why his pseudo sister was Hermione cursed so darkly by Dolohov that she had to be treated with unending potions day in and day out lest she fall dead at a moment's notice.

Hermione's begging words of reason, desperate to get Harry to think logically before running to Sirius' help, played over and over in his mind.

Harry collapsed on the stairs, leaning against the wall and holding his head in his hands. The memories flashed behind his eyelids as he pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, emotions in turmoil over the pain and horror he had brought upon his friends and his last remaining family. Watching Bellatrix curse Sirius through the veil once more brought a broken sob to his lips, begging his mind to please stop stop _stop._

* * *

Harry awoke in the last place he would have expected to. He lay on his stomach in a ridiculously comfortable four poster bed and craned his next to look up at the obnoxious gold and red trimmings decorating the room. Muggle pinup posters were tacked haphazardly to each wall, including a couple posters of Betty Boop, a character Harry recalled from his earlier childhood. Though she certainly looked a fair bit naughtier in these posters than he had seen on the telly.

Quidditch flyers were Spell-o tapped carelessly between the suggestive posters, unfamiliar characters zooming around on brooms and cheering as goals were scored and snitches were caught. A wooden dresser stood in the corner of the room, overflowing with silk shirts and boxers. A built-in closet door peaked open, displaying carefully hung leather jackets and pants from a bygone era. A mirror was even tacked to the ceiling, showing full view the bed and making Harry blush a mottled red the implications.

Ignoring the room and its strange decorations, Harry turned back to the bed and breathed in deeply the scent of the plush comforter, the heavy duvet still smelling strong of his godfather even after all this time.

Unlike the ugly memories from before, Harry suddenly was reminded of a simpler time when Sirius used to come by the Potter house as an infant. The memories were slippery and difficult to grasp at best, so he simply absorbed the emotions and felt a warmth spread across his chest, enjoying the brief recluse. For a moment, Harry felt loved and he grasped onto the emotion tightly, ignoring reality and snuggling deeper into the comforter.

"Does the Harry Potter want dinner in the kitchens?" Came an unexpected, harsh voice.

Harry jumped in shock and whipped his head around, spectacle-less eyes coming on the blurry shape of Kreacher. His first reaction was to scream at the little creature the way Sirius had, just months ago, but the words stuck fast in his throat. He looked at the tiny, withering beast as best he could without his glasses and saw a miserable, hunched creature facing the door. It was clear that Kreacher had brought him here during his breakdown on the stairs and still expected cruel treatment. Hermione's protests rang loudly in his ear, _He's a person, Harry! Listen to me! It's not right!_

For once, Harry listened to her despite every instinct screaming at him to beat the little monster senseless.

"Yes please," Harry croaked. "Thanks."

Both knew it wasn't for the suggestion of food, but Kreacher merely ignored his peace offering and snapped his fingers, disappearing into the depths of Grimmauld Place. Harry sighed and let his head fall back into the pillow. It was going to be a _very_ long summer indeed.

* * *

Harry slowly made his way down to the kitchen after ensuring his invisibility cloak was safe and his satchel untouched. The stairs groaned unhappily as he lightly stepped down the stairs and he wondered if the ancestral home of Black was miserable to be owned by a half-blood.

Once making his way into the room, Harry sighed at the sight before him. A bowl of barely passable gruel and a glass of brown water had been placed on kitchen table. Kreacher sat in the corner of the room, grumbling as he knitted what appeared to be a tiny winter coat.

"Thank you, Kreacher," Harry ventured a little more genuinely than before, sitting down at the table.

Kreacher looked up at the boy with such surprise that even Harry heard the cracking of his neck. "Filthy half-blood," Kreacher murmured in distaste as he returned to his knitting.

It was obvious though, from Kreacher's appearance and stature, that Sirius' death had affected even him. Harry spooned the nasty concoction into his mouth, hoping not to offend the house elf by his slight grimace of disgust. On the contrary, it seems to entertain the elf more.

After eating what little he could stomach, Harry walked his bowl of gruel and untouched water to the sink, washed the dishes, and placed them on an overly ornate rack to dry. He returned to the kitchen table and sat in silence. A large grandfather clock chimed eleven o'clock somewhere in the house and Harry looked down at his twisting fingers, wishing he knew how to start a conversation with a racist elf.

"Kreacher knows Harry Potter is new master," Kreacher grumbled while continuing his knitting, pearling violently.

Harry looked up in surprise. The little elf had never initiated a conversation before other than to insult, but it was clear he couldn't hold back expressing his disgust.

"I'll set you free, if you'd like," Harry offered. In a flash, Kreacher had dropped his knitting and was howling silently in horror, maw gaping and eyes wide open, hands clawing at his ears as he knelt pitifully on the floor.

"No!" Harry whispered hoarsely, standing quickly from the table. "You don't have to be free, Kreacher, only if you want!"

Kreacher ceased his horrific display of despair, slowly rising from his position on the floor. "Kreacher can stay?" The elf ventured fearfully.

"Of course, Kreacher," Harry answered softly, returning to his seat. "I'd never make you leave. After all, you belong in the house more than I ever could. This is your home. I can only hope this will become mine too one day."

The answer seemed to shock Kreacher to the bone and the elf stared at Harry in awed silence.

Harry felt himself soften at the evil little git. The little creature seemed devastated at having lost everyone, even Sirius, and Harry couldn't bear to let him destroy himself in the madness of solitude.

"I don't want the Order here, anymore," Harry admitted into the silence. He wasn't sure what made him say it, but it came tumbling out of his mouth in embarrassing honesty.

Kreacher appraised the boy for a while. "Kreacher knows how to stop the mudblood and traitors coming into the house," he stated, beady eyes daring Harry to challenge him.

Harry sighed at the terminology but accepted the gesture with grace. "That would be great, Kreacher. I just want this place to be… Brought back, I guess. To its formal glory. But better than ever. Want to help me?"

Without warning, Kreacher burst into tears and ran across the room towards the table, briefly terrifying Harry, and embraced Harry's leg. The little elf gripped the pant leg with fervour, burying his face into Harry while he sobbed into the fabric helplessly.

Harry patted Kreacher's back soothingly, though a little sickened by the feeling of the sobbing elf blowing his nose into his trousers, and pondered what exactly he had gotten himself into.

* * *

The next day, Harry was invited down to a large English breakfast complete with sweetened tea and strawberry jam for his scones. It surprised Harry to no end that simply being nice to Kreacher resulted in such a turnaround but, then again, the elf was completely insane and Harry wouldn't dare mention it for fear of insulting the elf's sensibilities.

Over breakfast, Harry discovered that Kreacher's knowledge of wizardry and witchery was far more expansive than even a few established professors at Hogwarts. Kreacher had led Harry into the library after breakfast (and thoroughly washing his hands), an enormous study with a fair few dangerous books trying to draw him close to their sides. Kreacher gripped Harry's hand as he led the boy past the compulsed tomes and sat him down in the centre of the room.

"Master needs to become with the wards," Kreacher explained, though this only confused Harry more.

"One with the wards?" Harry asked, deferring to the elf's knowledge and experience.

Kreacher scowled and placed a heavy tome in his lap, making Harry cough at the sudden puff of dust wafting into his face.

"Master will read. Master knows less than a mudblood. Shameful," the elf scolded harshly, wagging a finger at Harry's watering eyes.

"But I –"

"Shameful!" Interrupted the elf in a loud voice. "No talky until finished reading!"

Harry stared at the house elf as if slapped, holding the tome close to his chest. "But –"

Kreacher suddenly drew a large wooden spoon out of thin air and shook it at Harry warningly. "Shameful." The elf's eyes narrowed and Harry realised the creature wouldn't hold back on whacking him with the utensil.

Harry opened the book and began to read.

* * *

After being forced to read four ridiculously large tomes in less than eleven hours straight, Harry felt that his brain was about to explode. Kreacher fed him all kinds of 'study food', as the elf liked to claim. Strawberries, nuts and even peppermint tea was plied into his mouth as he absorbed the heavy text regarding Fidelius Charms.

Harry had a much greater appreciation for warding as a whole. And curse breaking. _Merlin,_ he thought, _Bill must be a genius._

While the texts were difficult to understand at first, the theories became significantly easier to process once Kreacher explained the terminology. To the elf's credit, he never left Harry's side with the exception of bringing more snacks or allowing a five-minute study break. Harry realised that Hermione would kill for this power and study ethic; he vowed to never let the two get onto speaking terms.

"Now Master Harry be writing an essays," Kreacher announced. Harry whipped his head around and looked at Kreacher, appalled. "The promptsies being on the paper." A piece of parchment was thrust into Harry's face and he groaned with the horrified realisation that Kreacher was completely serious.


	5. Chapter 5: The Elves Are Revolting

_"Now Master Harry be writing an essays," Kreacher announced. Harry whipped his head around and looked at Kreacher, appalled. "The promptsies being on the paper." A piece of parchment was thrust into Harry's face and he groaned with the horrified realisation that Kreacher was completely serious._

* * *

 **Chapter 5: "Mrs. Tweedy, The Elves Are Revolting"**

Harry was finally released from Kreacher on the fifth day of his stay at Grimmauld Place. He had been checking Sirius' mirror nightly and confirmed that Dudley was indeed following through with their deal. Harry would send a missive each morning to Gringotts to confirm a deposit of one hundred pounds into his muggle bank account, a possibility that still perplexed him for its simplistic nature, and would await patiently for the next round of academic torture Kreacher would thrust on him.

Gringotts sent back a missive on the fourth morning, notifying him of a response from the governess. Unlike the current false owl mail they were sending his interceptor (though all parties were fairly sure it was Dumbledore, to Harry's despair), this mail was addressed to _The Master of the House, The Black Ancestral Home_. This seemed to work as intended and even Kreacher had cackled at the Slytherin-ness of it all.

On the third day of his stay at Grimmauld Place, Kreacher had finally left Harry to his studies, now believing the boy would read and take notes as deemed appropriate. Kreacher had been polishing a large goblet obsessively, eyes glittering at the Black Crest engraved in the pure silver and gold inlays, when Harry had come across him during a study break. Harry told Kreacher that he was welcome to choose three items of his desire in the house for his personal collection (a number that felt too small, but appropriate enough to not offend the Black-fanatical elf) and had been treated to another round of sobbing appreciation.

Their relationship had approved even more after that and Harry was still shocked how just a little kindness won the support and fierce loyalty of such a creature. He wished desperately that Sirius had just _tried_ a bit harder, just acted a _little_ kinder. He noticed the dark look Kreacher wore when Harry was escorted to Sirius' room each night and felt a rift grow a little wider in his heart. It was part of the same rift born when he saw those memories of his father torturing a young, defenceless Snape.

It blackened his heart a little each time.

On the fifth day, he was dressed rather fashionably (though about two decades behind) by Kreacher, who stuffed him into one of Sirius' charcoal silk shirts and black linen pants, now tailored to fit his much smaller frame. His self-tailoring robes were hidden in the depths of his trunk and Kreacher took the opportunity to dress Harry in a heavy set of over-robes despite the sweltering summer heat.

Harry allowed himself to be carefully groomed by Kreacher for about half an hour before begging for relief, insistent that he was to be late to Gringotts. Kreacher had been taken aback and Harry realised that wizards and witches weren't the only ones intimidated by the goblin folk.

"Why won't you tell me the ceremonial words, Kreacher?" Harry asked curiously.

"Master Harry will know," Kreacher answered resolutely. "And if Master Harry does not, it is not to be."

Despite the words, Harry found comfort. He would rather be Sirius' blood son because it was meant to be than because of hours of training. It held the scent of mischief, Marauder mischief, that drew Harry to the danger.

Two minutes to departure, Harry looked down at his frame and smiled at the care Kreacher had put into stitching the clothes to fit just right.

"Kreacher, you really are the best, you know that, right?" Harry asked Kreacher playfully, a small smile quirking the edges of his lips.

Kreacher merely sneered, a look that Harry was slowly becoming to realise was a classic Kreacher diversion, and stretched out his hand.

"Master Harrys not to be missing the meetings!" The elf demanded and Harry nodded, taking the offered, tiny appendage.

With a crack, Harry and Kreacher appeared outside the bank five minutes to opening. At the early morning hour, not even seven am, not a soul could be seen wandering the streets of Diagon Alley.

Griphook cracked open a small portal just a few feet away from the main entrance doors, a secret entrance that would never be seen without being opened, and Harry and Kreacher snuck into the bank.

Once inside and settled in the same meeting room as the reading of Sirius' will, Harry finally relaxed. Though he had only seventeen hours to his birthday, Harry felt comfortable with his decision.

"Have you seen the governess, as Heir Black requested?" Griphook began formally, not bothering in pleasantries.

"I have not," Harry responded respectfully. "But I have received the guidance and care of an ancestral elf of the House of Black. I have come to my decision."

Griphook sneered at Kreacher coldly and bit back, "That is hardly an impartial source."

Harry smiled at the attack, hardly disturbed, and responded kindly, "I also doubt a pureblood etiquette governess, no matter how highly recommended by my godfather, would be any less impartial. I will commit to see her once the inheritance has been accepted, though."

Kreacher rose a triumphant, invisible eyebrow at Griphook, but shrunk back once the goblin's glare was levelled on the house elf.

"As you wish, wizardling," the goblin responded coldly, clearly uninterested in Harry's or Kreacher's interests. "We will begin at the reading of the rights."

Reinfeng then entered the room and gestured for Harry and Kreacher to follow him. Once everyone had settled in a room Harry recognised as a ritual room, he was asked to remove his outer robes. Harry obliged and stood in a circle of salt in the dark room, lit only by a few ceremonial candles.

"Harry James Potter, do you agree to the adoption and acceptance of the last Heir and Son of the House of Black?" Griphook asked deeply, eyes glowing in the near dark.

"I do," Harry answered firmly.

Griphook nodded, then began to chant in Latin. Harry wished he could understand, but even Kreacher, who seemed to know the language like a second tongue, appeared lost by the ancient words.

Reinfeng held out his hand and Harry produced his arm, rolling back the silk sleeve to reveal a slightly scarred forearm. Reinfeng accepted a dagger from Griphook, who continued to chant in his haunting, gravelly voice, and Reinfeng slashed the air above Harry's wrist with the dagger.

Harry closed his eyes as the dagger failed to touch his wrist and yet slit deep into the flesh. Blood poured from the wound and he bit his lip, a soft whine of pain the only recognition of the agonising wound.

"Do you accept Sirius Orion Arcturus Black, Heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black and member of the Sacred Twenty Eight, as your father?" Griphook asked suddenly, switching from incoherent Latin to English effortlessly.

"I do," gasped Harry as his blood poured onto the floor, litres at a time.

"Do you accept the laws of his people, of his family, of his honour?" Griphook pressed.

"I do," Harry sobbed as his head began to spin wildly.

"Do you accept the responsibility and weight from which his title stands and agree to act fairly, honestly, and in good faith to the traditions of the House of Black?" Griphook asked at last.

"Yes, I do," Harry answered breathlessly, eyes rolling and head lolling as he began to hedge death.

"Then you shall be," Griphook answered resolutely.

Without notice, Harry's mouth was yanked open and the vial of Sirius' blood was poured down Harry's mouth. A tiny hand massaged his throat and Harry swallowed, horrified at the pungent copper smell and disgust of drinking his godfather's essence.

After that, all Harry knew was pain.

* * *

Harry awoke in a sweat soaked bed, body trembling with remembrances of agony. It was Sirius' four poster bed, but the room had been cleared of the suggestive posters, wicked mirrors, and victorious sports flyers. Even the gold and red cluttering the ceiling had been removed and instead the room lay bare. Harry's eyes focused on the nearest beside table, looking for his glasses, when he realised with a start that he didn't even need them.

The thought haunted him. Had he changed?

Harry sat up quickly and immediately regretted the motion. His body cried out in angst, his muscles protesting from hours of clenching and shifting. Harry wasn't sure what had happened – this was definitely _not_ something he had planned for with Kreacher.

As if summoned, Kreacher apparated into the bedroom and froze upon seeing Harry awake. With sudden watery eyes, the elf launched himself at Harry and the boy caught the sobbing elf, doing his best to console the inconsolable.

"Kreacher, I'm okay, really, please don't cry," Harry crooned, a little taken aback by the slightly softer, velvetier voice coming through his lips.

Kreacher only wailed louder and Harry resolved to hug the elf until the sobbing died down. Once the alarming noise had softly turned into sniffles, and Kreacher had mostly composed himself (but refused to be removed from Harry's arms), did Harry get a chance to speak.

"Kreacher, what happened?" Harry enquired softly, still stroking the back of the shaking elf.

"Master Harrys been having the worst reaction ever," the elf answered wobblily. Harry could almost hear the tears gathering in Kreacher's eyes and he sighed.

"How so?" Harry pressed, hopeful that the elf would elaborate. Seeing as he had received no training beforehand regarding blood adoption, Harry wasn't even sure if this _wasn't_ meant to be part of the process.

"The goblins thinking you have something nasty insides you, making the transition worst," the elf answered, finally pulling away and placing two hands on Harry's face, looking deep into his master's eyes.

Something Kreacher saw shocked the elf, as he pulled away and turned even whiter than his normally pale complexion. Harry watched the elf in careful observance, seeing the ashen expression as a mixture of disbelief and shock, as if seeing a ghost.

"What is it Kreacher?" Harry asked quietly, fearfully.

"Master Regulus…" The elf murmured, and then squeaked in surprise and disapparated without a moment's notice.

Harry's eyebrows drew together in confusion. Regulus – wasn't that Sirius' younger brother? He carefully crawled out of bed, still wary of his worn muscles. Two pale, petite feet met his sight and Harry started. His old feet had been small but not this delicate nor pale. He lifted his hands to his face and looked at the unblemished palms and fingers. _I must not tell lies_ still lay scarred into the flesh of his left hand, yet against the pale, soft hands it appeared more apparent than ever.

Harry cursed loudly, not having expected something of this magnitude to occur from agreeing to the blood adoption. _How the hell was I supposed to know?_ Harry reasoned darkly, but still unable to place the blame on Kreacher as he knew he could have researched the Black library himself prior to the ceremony.

Harry limped towards the built-in closet and opened the largest door, knowing an enormous mirror hung on the other side. The sight that met his eyes made him jump.

At first, Harry thought an intruder had entered the house, but realised with startling clarity that it was _him_. A petite, well portioned, pale boy came into focus. Wavy black hair, tamed by the slight curl, brushed the edges of his shoulders. His previously long-ish face was sculpted into an aristocratic shape, rounded and jawline sharp, cheekbones high and well defined. His body had adjusted to his size, everything finally in proportion. Harry was amazed to see petite arms and legs as well as delicate shoulders and waist, not just a scrawny, wiry frame.

The most shocking difference was his eyes, which had changed into a softer, wider almond shape and lined with thick, long eyelashes. The beginnings of bushy eyebrows had been effortlessly wrangled into thin brows, defined by a strong slant and hooded eyes, making him look vaguely bored – Harry now realised it was a staple expression on most Blacks he'd met. Once purely green irises were now outlined by a dark charcoal on the edge of the iris and a bright silver ring around the pupil, expanding into the centre of the iris and flecking his eyes with silver and green.

Overall, Harry was completely flabbergasted to realise that he had indeed inherited the soft side of the Black genes while retaining a few major characteristics of his own. He was… _cute._ Effeminate. It was upsetting. Harry didn't understand why he didn't receive Sirius' height or shoulder width or devilishly good looks – instead, he looked small and beautiful. Not handsome. _Beautiful._ Harry scowled. _Typical, just typical. Couldn't let me have_ this _either?_ He berated the gods.

Harry lifted a lock of hair to study his forehead and was shocked to see that his infamous scar had almost completely disappeared. Where the welt of a cursed scar used to be, the thin outline of a lightning bolt traced the upper right side of his forehead. He noticed that, for the first time in _years_ , he felt calm. He felt like nothing could obtrude or interfere the sudden peace in his head.

That was, of course, until Kreacher returned towing Griphook in his wake.

* * *

It took two hours for Harry to finally stop raging and understand what Griphook was implying.

"You mean to say," Harry started cautiously. "That I was host to a _part_ of the Dark Lord (a near beating by saying Voldemort had taught him to keep his mouth respectful around the goblin and elf) and the blood adoption challenged the soul piece's right to host itself in my body?"

The elf and goblin nodded regally, though the impact was ruined when both turned to stare and sneer at one another.

"So I carried around a _part_ of t _he Dark Lord_ for _years_ ," Harry elaborated, on the edge of hysterics.

At the corresponding nod, he laughed a little manically in faux humour.

"Does anyone else know about this?" Harry asked, still shaking in hysteria.

"I assume Dumbledore, who has been privy to your most intimate life story," Griphook responded apathetically. "Though you no longer carry the soul slice and you are lucky to have had the spiritual fortitude to destroy the splintered piece. Had the soul piece been larger or stronger, you probably would have been turned into a vessel for its possession."

A sudden memory of Ginny laying on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, pale and dying as a young Tom Riddle sucked the life from her cooling body, came to mind. Of Professor Quirrell possessed by the demonic face stuck to the back of his head.

"How many are there?" Harry whispered.

"There's no way to tell without asking Dumbledore or the Dark Lord himself," Griphook answered with candour.

This did not help Harry's plight.

Griphook sighed dramatically and stood to leave. "I will respect your privacy in this topic, especially as I cannot discuss this matter with any other parties as this is part of the highly confidential adoption. However, Heir Potter-Black, this is pure black magic. Magics we dare not speak of in the confines of our own homes, nor write in any books you will find except in the darkest of libraries in Britain. Had this parasite remained tacked to your soul, it would have affected all those around you at some point or another. I would not be surprised if this is the reason you have suffered so greatly since the Dark Lord's return. Be glad that is has been destroyed. Good day," the goblin stated, ending his brief monologue.

After Griphook had left with little fanfare, Kreacher sat on the bed next to Harry for a few minutes in silence.

"Master Harry being sick in bed for many days," Kreacher whispered conspiratorially. "It would overcomes you, possess you, and sometimes I caught a whiffsies of the magic and it reminded me of something Master Regulus… Master Regulus gave me something… Something that reeked of the _thing_ in your head, Masters Harry."

At this, Harry gaped at Kreacher and tumbled out of the bed. "Show me, Kreacher."

The elf grabbed Harry's hand, eyes wide, and disapperated to the kitchen. Harry blinked in brief disorientation as Kreacher retrieved the item from his cupboard. Finally, the elf returned holding an object at arm's length, body trembling with hatred. He placed it on the kitchen table and Harry realised it was a large golden locket with an "S" carved on the face.

"Master Regulus gave this to me to destroys, died so Kreacher could leave, but Kreacher could not," Kreacher admitted through tears, pulling on his ears. "Kreacher tried everything, but evil locket still here. Kreacher puts in fire, Kreacher puts in acid, Kreacher stabs with dagger, Kreacher drops from the highest building. Nothing, Masters Harry, nothing!"

Harry leaned forward to touch the locket, then snatched his hand back in surprise before he could touch its face. It felt similar to the diary he had encountered in second year, a boiling hatred and sadistic magic pulsing from the locket's aura. Unwilling to discuss openly in front of the locket for fear that it was as sentient as the diary, Harry silently gestured for Kreacher follow him out of the kitchen.

Once safely away, Harry breached a sigh of relief.

"That's definitely a horcrux, Kreacher," Harry whispered, lips carefully sounding out the unfamiliar word Griphook had used earlier. "It felt the same as the diary and even my scar at times. It's dangerous. We need a Basilisk Fang – that's what destroyed the diary."

Kreacher pondered on the implications. "Can you finds the fang?" He whispered back, fearful of the horcrux hearing.

"I think so," Harry agreed quietly. "At Hogwarts, we had slain a basilisk in second year in Slytherin's chamber. I can find it again and steal a fang to kill the damned thing."

In that moment, he saw Kreacher provide the proudest, most genuinely glittering smile he had ever seen from the mopey elf. Kreacher reached out and hugged Harry's pant leg, stroking the muscle and muttering something about 'the bestest master'. Disturbed by the sight of Kreacher's dark happiness, Harry smiled down at the little creature uneasily.

"For now, hide the locket, keep it away from sight and sound. I wouldn't be surprised if the damn thing is sentient, like the locket and my own scar. We'll also need to make sure that the house is definitely warded against intruders, too, if we'll be keeping pieces of the Dark Lord's soul around the house," Harry instructed, face softening at the elf's eager nods and patting his head gently before the elf disappeared with a loud crack.

* * *

Harry's summer passed by quicker than he expected.

Dudley had sent him an owl (to his complete shock and awe) to inform him that Dumbledore had send pseudo-Harry a letter. Luckily, Harry had sent a new batch of Polyjuice just in time as Dudley had no other means of communicating with his cousin. The House of Black had an owlery, something Harry had never known before, and he had a choice of bad tempered barn owls or falcons that looked meaner than sin. Kreacher had shown off the falcons, lovingly sharpening their talons to a fine needlepoint and stroking their dark feathers as their piercing eyes followed Harry predatorily, as if he looked like a nice evening snack. Harry chose a scowling barn owl.

Dumbledore wanted to take 'Harry' on a fieldtrip. Writing back, Harry convinced Dudley to agree and noted that he was already upset with Dumbledore anyway, so Dudley could play a sulky teenager and get away with it. To his relief, Dudley agreed and a few days later Harry received a letter informing him of the adventure Dudley had received while travelling with Dumbledore.

Clearly, Dudley had been impressed by side-along apparition (though completely nauseated to the point of vomiting in public) and had enjoyed the wondrous displays of magic. Harry wished he could keep Dudley on reserve to hand off to Dumbledore for his mysterious missions so that Harry could continue on with his own valuable research. Why Harry would think it mattered to convince an old Potions Master to return to Hogwarts was beyond ridiculous.

A piece of Harry felt a twinge treasonous at brushing Dumbledore off with such ease, but a much larger part of him loathed the headmaster for hiding something as important as _horcruxes_ after promising to keep no more secrets. Oh, and the fact he had one _in_ _his head_ probably should have come up _sometime_ in the last five years. Harry knew that was partially why Snape-Break-Your-Mind Occlumency lessons had gone so poorly. And why Dumbledore spent the last year _ignoring_ and _hiding_ from him. The man clearly knew of their existence, that was for certain. _But god-forbid the man ever tells the truth straight up,_ Harry thought darkly. _Much better to make me think that I'm going totally, undeniably insane_.

Harry found himself insurmountably irritated with the wizened old wizard.

Besides, if Dumbledore genuinely didn't notice that _Dudley Dursley_ was pretending to be Harry Potter, then Dumbledore could eat an entire patch of boiled cabbages for all he cared.

In the meantime, Harry had discovered how to adjust the Fidelius Charm of Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore, the sneaky bastard, had told Other Harry that he was now the owner of Grimmauld Place (but made no mention of a will) and was convinced that summoning Kreacher would prove ownership. Thankfully, Kreacher had the insight to successfully play the part of hateful, miserable house elf and 'obeyed' Other Harry's orders.

Kreacher had returned in a tizzy and luckily, he and Harry were just prepared enough to adjust the wards on the spot. It took a fair bit of effort and all of their collective magical reserves, but the memory of the location of the house was removed from all those given the address by the secret keeper. Only through Harry's newly minted Black blood was he able to remove the power of the current Secret Keeper and transfer the right unto himself instead. This was verified when the little scrap of paper in the entrance hall with the address written on it by Dumbledore himself burst into a neon green, heatless flame and disintegrated into ash in less than a second.

Harry felt strange having to remind Kreacher the address of the house, but also incredibly safer since the elf, who had lived in the house for the past six hundred years, couldn't remember its locale. Especially considering he wasn't sure if Bellatrix LeStrange or Narcissa Malfoy (both _nee Black_ ) knew of the ancestral house's address and Kreacher referring to them as Miss Bella and Miss Cissy gave him the creeps. He was immensely thankful they hadn't decided to make Kreacher the secret keeper.

All in all, Harry hoped the new development only brought Dumbledore more stress.

Kreacher kept Harry occupied by forcing his attendance at the pureblood culture lessons Sirius had arranged prior to his death while he was busy 'working' at Hogwarts Kitchens, which was more like showing his face on occasion at the school before apparating back to Grimmauld Place. Though he would never admit to Kreacher's face, these lessons provided useful to understand the enormous sticks shoved up most of his pureblood classmates' arses as he now realised the intricacies of each interaction.

Or, rather, Harry didn't understand but did his best to adjust – which was stressful after weeks of endless lessons and tuition. To his unsurprised discovery, the governess was a beautiful woman who was clearly breathtakingly enthralled with Sirius and devastated by his death. It seemed the old dog had begun a little love affair, privy to no one, after settling in the ancestral Black House. Luckily, she seemed to assume that Harry was Sirius' long lost son (though it helped looking like a tiny carbon copy of a Black heir) and kept their lessons secret out of respect for the fallen Black.

Another fortunate perk of Harry's new appearance including passing by completely unnoticed in Diagon Alley, hidden in plain sight. He knew that he should enjoy it while he could, since returning to Hogwarts would undoubtedly see the cat out of the bag.

Harry's newly healthy body didn't stop Kreacher from fussing over Harry's wellbeing constantly. Harry had grown comfortable in his new form and Kreacher kept him well fed on homecooked meals, treacle tart and (thank Merlin) non-brown water. Kreacher's announcement that he could indeed practice wand magic while in the Fidelius'd house was an awesome discovery until he realised that the house elf was going to still force him to practice wandless, wordless magic so he could defeat 'that _bad_ man'. Kreacher even constantly hounded him to complete his summer Hogwarts lessons, even in classes he was not to take.

His OWLs had arrived at Dudley's, who forwarded it on and reported that he politely declined an invitation to join Ron and Hermione for the rest of the summer at the Burrow.

It humoured Harry briefly to consider the looks on his closest friends' faces as they received the polite refusal to escape No. Four Private Drive, but it also caused him pain. He wished he could speak to Hermione about the blood adoption, sure she would understand in moments what he studied for weeks. He wanted Ron's pureblood experience but also genuine interest, to speak openly and frankly about the troubles he was going through.

Harry couldn't bare it, though. Couldn't leave his much-needed tutelage now that Voldemort was officially back, especially since Dumbledore's attempts to 'teach' Other Harry were basically as helpful as watching muggle telly. He couldn't let Ron and Hermione in on more secrets that were guaranteed to put them in harm's way – at least, not while he wasn't be there to protect them.

So Harry thanked Dudley for his work, added a few extra hundred pounds to the bank deposits in appreciation, and returned to his studies.


	6. Chapter 6: Everything Has A Price

_So Harry thanked Dudley for his work, added a few extra hundred pounds to the bank deposits in appreciation, and returned to his studies._

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Everything Has A Price**

On one of Harry's last days of freedom, he mailed Dudley to thank him for his service and excused him from the contract. Though the boy was a couple thousand pounds richer now than the beginning of the summer, Harry knew his cousin didn't have to agree to half the things he had during the holidays. But Harry had long figured out that his cousin enjoyed the experience and intrigue. Harry was surprised to note that he had gotten much closer to his estranged cousin and the boy had warmed up considerably, maturing quickly over the summer while under the pressure of being Other Harry.

Harry had then sent a letter to Hermione explaining that he was going to enjoy a few days of freedom. Unfortunately he had to resort to muggle post, seeing as he had sent Hedwig to stay with Ron and didn't want to tip them off by using a Black owl. He wrote of sneaking out of No. Four Private Drive and claimed he would spent the next couple days wandering muggle London while put up at a dingy motel.

Harry didn't receive a response, as all letters addressed to "Harry Potter" disappeared into a large black hole that looked suspiciously of Albus Dumbledore, but Harry knew that Hermione would tell Ron and they would probably understand. Even though Hermione would fret and wring her wrists over Harry's lack of protection, Ron would undoubtedly fight for Harry's right for freedom from his relatives and a bit of privacy before the start of term. Harry couldn't write down his summer activities on parchment, knowing the messages would be intercepted once more, so waited patiently to tell them of his adventurous summer once on the Hogwarts Express.

Two days to the end of summer, Harry left the office of his governess after his last lesson, exhausted by her tears and well wishes. She had exceptionally taken to Harry, which he knew was entirely based on his intense inheritance of Black features, from silvery eyes (though thankfully mostly green) to the thick, wavy black hair. It was creepy, though, for the woman to stroke his head and croon at him, especially considering he was half her age and the 'son' of her deceased lover.

Harry had slowly adjusted to his godfather's death, the healing process slow and steady. And yet Harry wasn't ready to deal with a governess sitting in his lap, going on about how much of an amazing man Sirius was while running her hands through his hair – to be honest, he didn't think he would _ever_ be ready for something like that. Harry was also pretty sure that the woman doing so basically broke every rule of pureblood propriety she'd beaten into him over the summer.

He had slipped under his invisibility cloak, more comfortable in the secrecy even though he was rarely recognised in Diagon Alley these days, when he saw a flash of blond hair.

Harry recognised that colour of white-blond in an instant. A Malfoy. Harry immediately thought of Lucius Malfoy, but he recalled that the Death Eater was holidaying in Azkaban. Harry smiled darkly at the thought. So, not Lucius – Draco.

Harry snuck behind Malfoy and tailed the boy as the went down into the depths of Knockturn Alley. They had passed Weasley's joke shop not long ago and Harry felt a small shiver trickle down the back of his neck, feeling the desolate aura of the shopping district more than ever as the country sunk into deep despair over Voldemort's return. Finally, Malfoy disappeared into Borgin and Burkes. Harry crouched below the window, trying desperately to hear through the warded glass panes.

A muffled conversation later, Harry realised that Draco Malfoy was on a mission from Voldemort. Trying to fix something just out of the line of sight of Harry's spying. What was the sixteen-year-old boy doing, carrying out the whims of a dark lord? Though, Harry noted bitterly, if Voldemort told Malfoy to do something, it wasn't like the boy could politely decline.

Finally, Malfoy showed something to Borgin in a threatening manner, something on his being that made the shopkeeper bow his head in deference to the sixteen-year old. Harry felt his skin crawl. _The Mark._

 _What the hell is happening?_ Harry thought, panicked. _Who the hell marks a child still in school?_ Harry realised with a start that he was being ridiculously stupid. _A psychotic wacko who murders babies and splits his soul into a million tiny pieces, that's who,_ he thought caustically.

Malfoy finally ended his meeting with the ashen Borgin, stepping out of the shop. Harry caught sight of the boy's face and blanched at Malfoy's sickly features. He had certainly changed during the summer, nearing six feet in height. He had grown into his aristocratic features and had transformed from a fairly cute kid to a hauntingly handsome Heir Malfoy (the thought disturbed Harry though it was undeniably true).

But Malfoy had thinned considerably, more than just a little lost baby fat, and his skin stretched taut over his sallow face as he sneered. His hair was messier than he thought Malfoy capable of, a little greasy and very windswept. His hooded, silver eyes darted to look around the alley and Harry was immensely grateful he had brought his invisibility cloak with him. After an eternity passed, Malfoy took off down the street, shoulders hunched and footsteps rapidly echoing away into the darkness.

After Malfoy was long gone, Harry cast a wandless, wordless _Notice Me Not_ charm on his being and carefully took off the invisibility cloak once he could see no human-shaped shadows nor feel any presences in the alleyway. He tucked it into his knapsack quickly and carefully smoothed down his ruffled hair and robes, pressing the creases out with ease. Once he looked presentable, he cast a quick _finite_ and strolled into Borgin and Burkes with a confident stride.

Harry had never been more grateful for his new looks and pureblood training, for Borgin turned to scowl at him and immediately balked. Harry walked the length of the shelves slowly, pointedly avoiding the Hand of Glory, and stopped to look down his nose at a display of taxidermied pixies.

"'Ello, there," Borgin murmured in what Harry was sure the man thought was a welcoming tone. "What'cha looking fer today?"

Harry looked up through his eyelashes at the greasy, poorly-groomed man. He smiled softly, a little disarming twitch of the corner of his lips (the one his governess had insisted he practiced daily and claimed it increased his intrigue), and looked around the shop with a raised eyebrow.

Borgin seemed encouraged by Harry's behaviour as he scurried around the store to stand by his elbow. Though the man was fairly small, he still stood over Harry by a few centimetres and the stench of dark magic clinging to his unwashed clothes had Harry barely supressing a flare of his nostrils.

"You likin' tha jewellery?" Borgin asked encouragingly, waving his hand at a few rings and earrings beside the pixies.

"Hmm," Harry hummed in response, pursing his lips. Turning on his heel, Harry wandered by the place Malfoy had stood minutes before and swept his eyes over the shelved products. There was a rather ancient, expensive looking cursed necklace, a few trinkets worth more as paperweights than their intended purpose, and an enormous armoire. But nothing stood out that would warrant Voldemort's attention.

"Tha's not fer sale," Borgin suddenly announced coldly, jerking his head at the armoire.

Harry slowly turned his head to Borgin, pinning the shopkeeper with an unimpressed, hooded gaze. "I have no need for haunted armoires nor cursed jewellery," Harry answered softly, barely above a whisper.

Borgin paled slightly, mannerisms changing from greasy salesman to overly defensive shop owner in a heartbeat.

"I don' sell nothin' tha' my customers ain' got a licence fer, boy," Borgin growled.

Harry laughed lightly, tilting his head at Borgin respectfully. "Oh course, good sir. I never intended to imply otherwise," he agreed. "I am looking for something a little more… Rare," Harry continued, walking past the armoire, trying to seem uninterested in the large wooden cabinet.

Harry passed his hand over a few broaches on display with strange house emblems carved into the fine gold, careful to keep an airgap of a few centimetres. The jewellery shivered, as if trying to reach out and snap into Harry's outstretched palm like a magnet. Harry withdrew his caress and turned amused eyes on the store owner, clasping his hands behind his back to hide the curling of his fingers, which twitched painfully from the exposure to raw dark magic.

"It seems that you do not have what I am looking for," Harry whispered, eyes roaming the stock with disinterest.

"Wha' exactly are ye looking fer?" Borgin asked quickly, a greedy glint in his eyes at the thought of a special order.

"I'm not sure, exactly," Harry answered with candour. "But I will know when I feel it."

Harry realised with a start that he was subconsciously speaking of horcruxes. Though he reasoned that this implication was the furthest thing from the shopkeeper's mind. It wasn't exactly a hot topic to discuss, even in the depths of Knockturn Alley.

Borgin's eyes narrowed in thought. "We do have a backroom for more… _Delicate_ stock," Borgin began slowly, studying Harry's face for a reaction.

"Perhaps next time," Harry cut him off lightly, hiding his growing apprehension behind a mask of boredom. There was no way he was following Borgin into _any_ backroom without backup. That and he hardly doubted Lord Voldemort kept his horcruxes in the dank back room of a dusty Knockturn shop. "Thank you for your time," Harry intoned lowly, nodding his head slightly but never breaking eye contact with the shopkeeper.

Borgin nodded frantically, seeing that Harry was about to leave, and scurried to the door to hold it open. "Please do keep our store in mind, Mister…?" Borgin trailed off, blatantly fishing.

Harry smiled coolly at the shop owner and dipped his head once more in thinly disguised derision. "Heir Black, Mr. Borgin," he acquiesced politely, and took off down Knockturn Alley before he could register the look of shock on the shopkeeper's face.

* * *

Harry sat on a wooden bench on the magical side of Station 9 ¾ half an hour before the train was set to depart. Kreacher had wrung his hands in despair at leaving Harry alone by himself to wait for the train but Harry shooed the house elf away and promised to seek him out once he had settled at Hogwarts. Harry was happy that Dumbledore had tried to manipulate Other Harry into sending the distraught house elf away from Grimmauld Place for his own purposes, for now Harry had his close confident with him at the school.

Despite the weirdness of the elf, Harry had grown to adore the creature and his bizarre, sometimes innocently unaware, evil personality. While it was strange to think that his little elf had grown up in one of the darkest magical houses in wizarding Britain, it explained the elf's twisted moral guide and habit of doing ridiculously black magic and a cleaning charm in the same breath.

Harry wondered what Dobby thought of his newfound friend. Though he seriously doubted the elf would be unhappy that he had technically 'freed' another house elf from years of abandoned servitude at the inaccessible House of Black. Harry couldn't wait to be back in the walls of Hogwarts, especially now that the horrible frog woman Dolores Umbridge was banished back to the ministry and no longer skulked the halls of the ancient castle.

Harry had kept up to date with the recent movements of the newly elected Minister and upheaval at the Ministry. Despite his apprehension, his only source of news was the Daily Prophet, who had done such an about face regarding Harry Potter that he was immensely surprised the magical community wasn't still suffering severe whiplash. Harry was disgusted to discover that the frog woman had kept her position. It appeared the ministry was undeniably more corrupt than even he originally thought.

Harry was pulled from his thoughts at a loud wave of chattering coming from the other side of the station. Dozens of wizarding families had begun to pile into the station from both the muggle entrance and the apparition points, filling the hall quickly and swamping the few early students who sat quietly reading their books or chatting amongst friends. Arriving early seemed to be a muggle tradition, as witches and wizards took their speedy travelling methods for granted and thus were often late to all occasions.

Standing and stretching his legs, Harry chuckled at the sight of fire-engine red hair pop through the muggle entrance. The multiple bobbing heads of red were promptly herded through the station by the barking of a fierce, plump woman who pushed a trolley of trunks through the throngs of families with determination. A head of wildly curly brunette hair followed a safe distance away.

Harry stepped forward to greet the Weasleys. Once within speaking distance, Harry called out to Ron.

The boy had grown immensely over the summer and Harry gaped as a tall, gangly boy whipped around at the sound of his best friend's voice. Ron and Harry sized once another up, the taller boy clearly taken aback as well by Harry's new appearance.

"Ron," Harry greeted while grinning, stepping up to his best friend. He was quickly met with a wand in his face and surrounded by a gaggle of tense redheads. Harry stopped froze and stared at his friend in surprise; surely he would recognise Harry even despite all the changes?

"What spell did you use to knock out the troll in first year?" Ron asked guardedly, never lowering his wand. Hermione peaked over his shoulder, looking at Harry with a concerned expression.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Win-gardium Lev-ee-oh-sah," he pronounced with great emphasis in the way Hermione had taught them. Harry then mimed the falling of a club with his hand with a whistle and made an explosion sound, like the cartoons from his childhood, to mimic the impact and troll falling down.

Ron's lip twitched, but he didn't give up. "What did you witness in Snape's pensive?" He pressed.

Harry frowned slightly, but dutifully answered. "The Marauders bullying him."

"Harry!" Squealed Hermione, launching past Ron and enveloping Harry tight hug. "Oh, my god. We missed you so much! What on earth happened to you? You look so different – like, Ron grew like a bean stalk and I know I've changed a bit, but you look like an _entirely_ different person! And you've even grown a few centimetres, and you look like you've finally eaten a full meal, and –"

Harry attempted a few weak protests during her tirade but hugged her back with force, burying his head in her shoulder and finally relaxing tense muscles. He was incredibly happy that Hermione had seemingly forgiven him for last year's debacle and the cold shoulder over the summer.

"Merlin, Hermione, don't go crushing him now," Ron boomed out, yanking Harry out of Hermione's hold. The taller boy briefly hugged Harry as well and murmured, "Great to see you, mate. We really missed you."

Harry was then yanked into the arms of Ginny, who hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear, "You're telling us _everything_ this year – not just Hermione and Ron." Harry nodded with aplomb, knowing Ginny could easily drag the truth out of him just by threatening him with her infamous Bat Boogey hex.

Harry was finally released into the hold of Mrs. Weasley, who alternated between fiercely berating the black-haired boy for going AWOL at the end of summer and hugging him within an inch of his life. Mr. Weasley took pity on Harry and pulled him from his wife's motherly attentions, clasping the boy on the shoulder and welcoming him back to the wizarding world.

Harry's eyes watered slightly and he laughed as he looked at his adopted family getting ready to depart. Hermione was already going off about her study schedule for the upcoming NEWT year and Ron was groaning in despair but giving the oblivious girl a few adoring looks when her back was turned. Molly fussed over Ginny, to the younger girl's total embarrassment, and Arthur loaded the trunks into the side of the train's carriage. He hadn't realised how dearly he missed their company until now.

Just as they began to board the train at the final boarding whistle, Harry turned to say goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and caught sight of Draco Malfoy. The boy stood next to his mother, a once regal woman who now looked as thin and sallow as her son, and was passing his eyes over the station coldly. Malfoy did a quick double-take and stared at Harry with unguarded shock, surprising Harry that the boy's mask was down for so long. Even Mrs. Malfoy caught her son's line of sight and grew ashen once she spotted the much-changed Harry.

 _They know_ , a little voice whispered in Harry's mind. The idea upset him immediately and he ducked his head, moving to hide behind Ron's tall frame to avoid the Malfoys' attention and say his goodbyes to the Weasley parents. Once boarded and settled on the train in an empty compartment with the youngest Weasley siblings and Hermione, Harry chanced a glance back at the station and was incredibly unsettled by the sight of Mrs. Malfoy, now standing by herself and a wide berth given to her by the other parents, staring straight at him through the train window. Grey eyes, a signature trait of the Black family, focused on him with intensity that cut into his soul. Harry had never been happier to hear the conductor's sharp departure whistle and he ducked his head to hide from the unsettling woman. Even as the train pulled out of the station, Harry could feel the weight of Mrs. Malfoy's piercing gaze following him into the distance.


	7. Chapter 7: Northern Birds & Flying Pigs

Author's Note: Once again, please be reminded that this story is slash (thought it's taken me nearly 20,000 words to get there...) and it will pick up from here.

* * *

 _Harry had never been happier to hear the conductor's sharp departure whistle and he ducked his head to hide from the unsettling woman. Even as the train pulled out of the station, Harry could feel the weight of Mrs. Malfoy's piercing gaze following him into the distance._

* * *

 **Chapter 7: In Which Birds Go North For The Winter (And Pigs Fly)**

After a few moments of confusion on the train as students found their respective friend groups, Neville and Luna located their carriage and expressed their own surprise at Harry's new appearance.

"Gosh, Harry, you like just like a photo Gran has of Regulus Black," Neville exclaimed once the compartment door was magically sealed and warded from snooping students.

Harry looked at Neville in surprise. "Your Gran has a photo of Regulus?" He asked incredulously.

"Who is Regulus Black?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"Well, Gran's cousin Harfang married into the Black family and Gran's super big on tradition and keeps photos of all extended family. She even makes me memorise all the names and faces, even if they're dead," Neville answered miserably, pursing his lips at the thought. Suddenly, he seemed to realise his faux pas and began to stutter out an apology.

"Neville," Harry soothed, holding up a hand to stop the boy's bumbling. "It's okay, I know you didn't mean it like that. This summer was really… Long, I guess you could say. I'm slowly coming to terms with his death and am grieving the way I should be," Harry elaborated, smiling softly at his gentle giant of a friend.

Neville's eyes filled with tears, but he smiled wetly at Harry's kind words.

Hermione reached over and grabbed Harry's hand (a fact that seemed to make Ron turn a shade a red) and she smiled at the smaller boy. "You've really changed, huh?" She asked wondrously, as if this new and improved Harry was too good to be true.

"Of course he's changed," Luna chirped happily, making the group turn to her in surprise. "He's partaken in the flesh and blood of tradition."

Hermione's eyebrows drew together in confusion, but Ginny, Ron and Neville all seemed to understand the implication immediately.

"No," Ginny breathed, looking at Harry with awe. "Wait – I can see it now. I don't know how we didn't see it before!"

Neville nodded, eyes wide and wringing his wrists nervously. Ron merely stared at Harry with his mouth wide open.

"Ron, close your mouth before you catch flies," Hermione snapped, her tone making Ron shut his jaw with an audible clicking of teeth. "Now you all explain right now. Who is Regulus Black and what is this tradition of flesh and blood?" She demanded angrily, upset at being left out.

"Not tradition of flesh and blood, but flesh and blood of tradition," Luna unhelpfully corrected, then airily went back to her upside-down copy of _The Quibbler_ when Hermione turned furious eyes on the evasive girl.

"There's this thing," Ginny cut in, shifting closer to Luna to protect the girl from Hermione's wrath. "In pureblood families. If you are the last of the main branch of the pureblood family, with no heir to continue the name, you can 'adopt' an heir. The heir will become part of the family, including in flesh and blood. Their previous identity is basically abolished, unless the heir comes from another pureblood family, in which case some characteristics remain."

"Just pureblood families?" Hermione asked sceptically, seemingly irritated by the elitism of the act.

"Most pureblood families choose a 'side' of magic," Neville contributed suddenly, looking far away into the English countryside as it flew by the window. "The Black family has traditionally been deeply entrenched in dark magic, for example, in the same way the Potters, Dumbledores and Longbottoms are entrenched in light magic. Only a few families, such as the House of Nott or House of Greengrass, have chosen grey territory, neither committing to either side and remaining mostly neutral in wars over the years. In many ways, it's just as dangerous to not choose a side as it is to choose one."

"And what does this have to do with anything?" Hermione asked, perplexed at the sudden pureblood history lesson.

Taking pity on her, Harry cut in and quickly explained what his friends were dancing around. "Each established house must have an Heir, Hermione. A few centuries ago, it was very fashionable for ancient houses to entrench their magic in a 'side', which changed their appearance and personalities. Have you wondered why most dark magic households are cynical, bitter people? Or why most light magic families are carefree, almost to the point of irritation?" Harry watched the cogs turning in Hermione's head and smiled at his ridiculously clever friend.

"The magic was infused in their blood after generations of practice," he continued, once he was sure Hermione was following along. "In a bid to protect their future generations, these families chose to weave a gift into their children, ensuring that should the family die out, the last heir of the family could choose the option to adopt a wizard into the family and basically change their DNA. It's choosing a champion to protect the line. The magic binds to that person, gives them the responsibilities and duties of an inborn heir of the house, and that person is required to live up to the traditions of that house. It's called the Champion's Gift."

Hermione looked at Harry with wide eyes. "Sirius gave you the gift," she whispered, looking him over with a different point of view.

Harry nodded and smiled at Hermione disarmingly, not wanting to scare her off. "Regulus was Sirius' younger brother, who I guess I take after in looks more than Sirius. I accepted the blood right before I really understood what I was getting into. It turns out that my blood is largely partial to light magic, which is unsurprising considering I am a son of the Potter line. Blending that with the Black line could have been incredibly dangerous, as the two forces don't generally mix well. But Sirius was always different than his family – he was more light than dark, but as he was a Black, his magic was always grey than light. I guess I'm lucky that it was Sirius' blood I accepted before knowing any of this."

Hermione looked up at the heavens as if searching for an answer and waved her hands in the air helplessly. "Why, Harry? Why the _hell_ does the most _bizarre_ _shit_ happen to you?" She finally burst out, surprising everyone in the compartment with her uncharacteristic swearing.

Everyone burst into laughter, easing the tension of the room.

"You have to admit, you're simply gorgeous," Ginny butt in once the laughter had died down.

Harry looked at Ginny, scrunching his face is scepticism. "Gorgeous? I look like a bloody girl, that's what," he grumbled.

"No, not really," Luna cut in, eyes suddenly focused on Harry intensely. "Aristocratic, not girly," she emphasised and Ginny agreed enthusiastically, making Harry shift closer to Neville at the sudden leers.

"Though still a little squirt," Ron laughed out tactlessly, ruffling Harry's hair in response to the scathing glare he received.

"Besides," Harry cut in, trying to distract Ron from making any more short jokes at his expense. "There's something else we need to discuss, but not here." He pulled a gold gallon from his pocket and held it out pointedly, not trusting the eyes or ears lurking on the train despite their warding.

The group nodded in understanding and quickly began discussing other topics. Ron waxed lyrical about George and Fred's new joke shop, insisting that the twins were going to make a fortune, especially now that everyone needed a good laugh these days.

Neville and Luna chatted amongst themselves and Harry smiled privately at the pink blush on Neville's cheeks as Luna informed him of the glowing gold dimpsies she noticed fluttering around his ears, apparently the hallmark of a good gardener.

Harry could even taste the romantic tension in the air between Ron and Hermione as the two bickered about the new school year, fuelled by Ginny's knowing teasing. Harry sighed and curled up against the window, watching the green rolling hills pass by and relaxing into the sound of his friends chattering.

About half an hour into the train ride, Ginny jumped up and announced loudly, "I'm off to find Dean! Don't expect me back for the rest of the ride." She winked at Hermione, who only laughed at the cheek of the younger girl, and flounced out of the compartment. Ron turned an unattractive shade of red and muttered darkly about beating Dean into pulp.

"Oh, please," Hermione scoffed. "She's hardly incapable of looking after herself, Ron. Especially with six older brothers."

Ron seemed marginally mollified by this and settled down.

"However, we do have the prefect's meeting to attend, so get up," Hermione added, standing up to gather her things and gesturing for Ron to follow her.

At Harry's surprised expression, Hermione gasped and grabbed Harry's hands once more. "Oh, Harry," she gushed. "I'm so sorry! I completely forgot to tell you – Ron and I made prefect again this year!"

It was obvious from Hermione's tense expression that she expected Harry to lose the plot at her declaration. Harry felt a twinge of self-loathing at the fact his best friends looked scared of his reaction, though it was warranted by his completely obscene behaviour the year before.

Harry smiled happily at Hermione, reaching out to give her a hug. "Of course you did! They'd be insane to choose anyone else," he responded with heartfelt warmth. He clapped Ron on the shoulder and shooed the two surprised looking teens out of the compartment.

"You've shaken your wrackspurts this summer," Luna observed out of the blue.

Harry turned to the blonde girl and smiled kindly. "Thanks for noticing, Luna. I feel a lot better."

Luna smiled charmingly up at Harry and went back to her conversation with Neville, who gazed at the girl with stars in his eyes.

Feeling a little uncomfortable staying in the compartment until Ron and Hermione returned, Harry excused himself to go find the lunch trolley. He wasn't exactly hungry and Kreacher had packed an overly enthusiastic lunch of shepherd's pie, vegetables and treacle tart. But the thought of watching Neville pine over an oblivious Luna was not exactly his cup of tea so he decided to stretch his legs. Harry strolled down the length of the carriage and was glad that the students failed to recognise him, eyes passing over him without seeing as he strolled past their carriages.

Harry had never been to the rear of the train before but had heard that there was a nice outdoor lookout. He realised that the front of the train was mostly composed of upper years and as he neared the rear, it was filled to the brim with nervous firsties and agitated second years, looking glum at having to share the space with their younger peers. Harry had never considered the power structure as he had always followed his friends to the compartments and found himself fascinated by this strange phenomenon.

Harry finally found the back of the train, a small carriage deserted bar a few studying Ravenclaws with their heads close together, who thankfully didn't look up or even seem to notice when he entered the carriage. He opened the door to the back deck and was stunned speechless by what he saw. The small platform was only a little over a meter deep and a couple of meters long. The edge was lined with an ornate, iron wrought railing and a well-polished wood banister. The wind whipped around the edges of the train, stirring and swirling as the train cut North through the chilly Welsh air.

Harry felt a small happy noise pulled from his lips, a surprisingly genuine laugh of amazement, perhaps for the first time in nearly a year. Harry reached out to the railing, stumbling under the strength of the wind and he gripped the top tightly, pulling his body against the cool iron and hands curling over the smooth wood bannister. Harry closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the swirling wind whip up his hair and leaned his body into the force. His robes flapped loudly in his ears and Harry was amazed by the similarity to the sensation of flying. He had never quite appreciated how unnaturally fast the train moved through the countryside on its way to Hogwarts and he opened his eyes to take in the stunning sight.

The wind dipped in temperature quickly as the sun began to hang low in the horizon. The sky lay awash with violent hues of gold, red and orange – a sight he rarely saw since moving into the ancestral house. He watched with awe, cheeks pink from the cold wind but unable to look away from the vibrant sunset. He failed to hear the sound of the carriage door opening and closing over the roar of the wind, still struck dumb by the peace of the landscape before him. But Harry definitely noticed the two hands landing on the barrier on either side of his curled figure, boxing him against the railing.

Harry spun around quickly, wand in his hand and spell on the tip of his lips when he caught side of his ambusher. Draco Malfoy pressed Harry viciously against the railing, trapping Harry and catching his wrist with Sneaker reflexes. Malfoy leered over the smaller boy, silver eyes alight and reflecting the hues of the sunset.

For one heart-stopping moment, Harry thought he saw Voldemort in those eyes. They flashed red in the glow of dying light and Harry froze, body trembling and eyes wide. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't make his body obey and _fight_.

Then the moment of mind-stopping terror had passed and Harry realised he was completely disarmed, his back bent over the railing of a rapidly moving train, by his childhood nemesis while frozen in some bizarre PTSD flashback to the Ministry. A nemesis who now proudly carried _The Mark_ and had enveloped Harry's wand and hand in his much larger one.

Malfoy stared at him with glinting eyes, crowding his space and Harry held his breath, stunned at his inability to think of a spell let physically alone defend himself. Malfoy leaned down and studied Harry's face, so close that Harry could feel the heat of the boy's breath on his cheek.

"What have you done?" The Malfoy whispered against the side of Harry's face, his head cocking as he changed his perspective to study Harry's expression from a new angle as if he were a bizarre specimen that he didn't quite understand.

Harry tried desperately to stop trembling, but the combination of the cold and the uncontrollable flashbacks to his encounter with Death Eaters _(facing Lucius Malfoy down in the Hall of Prophecies)_ only a few months before had him frozen in position like a mouse trapped by a viper.

"What are you talking about?" Harry finally forced out, voice rasping and rough, as he stared blankly straight ahead in a desperate attempt to avoid Malfoy's hypnotising eyes.

Malfoy leaned even closer and ran his nose down the length of Harry's jaw, nuzzling the soft, pale skin between his chin and neck. Harry grabbed the lapels of Malfoy's robes in surprise, hands burying into the soft, tailored fabric. Harry's wand was suddenly gone, taken effortlessly by Malfoy's hand, and an arm was wrapped around Harry's waist, bringing him even more impossibly closer to the blond. Harry was pressed even harder into the railing as another hand wrapped around the base of Harry's head, roughly pulling at the delicate strands of hair. Harry let out a cry of pain as his head was yanked back, exposing the column of his throat to Malfoy's inspection.

Malfoy's nose was against his neck instantly, inhaling deeply, and then was replaced by a hot, open-mouthed kiss moments after. Harry felt his eyes roll into the back of his head, his mind immediately numbed save for focusing solely on the heat of Malfoy's mouth, a roaring noise vibrating in his ears stunning him mute.

Teeth nipped up his throat and finally enclosed on his open mouth in a painfully heated kiss. Harry whined low in his throat, not sure what the _hell_ was happening but knowing enough to realise that he was completely and totally whipped, relaxing submissively into the taller boy's grip. Malfoy moaned in agreeance at Harry's suddenly limp frame, running sharp nails over the boy's skull and tugging painfully on Harry's hair, soothing and punishing. Harry pulled on the boy's robes, trying to bring Malfoy closer and bracing himself against the solid heat of the taller boy.

Suddenly, Malfoy was off him and Harry's hands were yanked off his robes in a violent motion. Harry stared up at the panting blond, his own breath loud and stuttering and the warring drumbeat in his eardrums fading marginally. Malfoy's hands were braced once more on the railing, still trapping Harry in his frame. Harry gripped the iron wrought barrier behind him as the train shifted and bucked. Harry stared up at Malfoy's swirling grey eyes, mouth still gaping open in shock and pleasure and feeling like a bucket of ice was being dropped over his head as the situation finally caught up in his sluggish mind.

"You kissed me," Harry stated loudly, flabbergasted. He blushed brightly at the accusation, not sure why his stupid mouth had decided to blurt that out.

"No," Malfoy contradicted wildly. "I didn't." He looked so sure of himself that Harry was sure for a second that he must have daydreamed the entire thing.

"Wait, no!" Harry protested, his mind slowly kicking into gear. "You actually _kissed me_. What the _hell_ , Malfoy?"

"Get over here," Malfoy growled, grabbing Harry's wrist and yanking him towards the carriage door.

"No! Let me go," Harry protested fiercely, trying to yank his wrist back from Malfoy's iron grip and trying not to fall over in the billowing wind.

The taller boy merely rolled his eyes, opening the carriage door with ease and throwing the smaller boy through the opening, who stumbled and toppled to the carpeted floor from the force.

"Get. Out. Now," Malfoy snarled at the group of studying Ravenclaws. They vanished so quickly that Harry would have thought they had apparated if the train wasn't warded against such things.

"What on earth are you doing, Malf –" Harry started scolding, scandalised as he scrambled to get up from the carriage floor.

Harry was pushed back onto the floor harshly and Malfoy was suddenly on top of him, pinning him down. "I didn't kiss you," the boy growled, voice deep and dangerous. Muscled forearms rested on either side of Harry's head and Malfoy hovered over his frame with knees braced beside his waist, making Harry feel even more claustrophobic in the tiny carriage.

Furious at how insane Malfoy was acting and tired of being pushed around like a plushie toy, Harry snarled. "Yes, you did, you completely psychotic piece of –"

Malfoy's mouth was on his lips, hard and demanding and somehow soft and if Harry thought his mind was blank before, it was nothing compared to the total brain freeze he was experiencing now. Harry's hands decided to develop a mind of their own and wove their way into soft, white-blond locks, holding that face against his like a lifeline. A warm, large hand wrapped around the back of Harry's neck and titled his head, allowing Malfoy to deepen the kiss.

The war drumbeat returned with a vengeance, drumming filling his ears, but this time it was slower. His entire being focused on the sensation of Malfoy's tongue teasing his lips open, of the hard-muscled body pressing him into the train carpet, of the strange taste on Malfoy's tongue and scent in his nose that was driving him absolutely _insane_.

Harry felt his hands pulling off Malfoy's outer robes and he distantly agreed with their actions while he focused on whatever Malfoy was doing with his tongue that made his eyes cross and toes curl helplessly. Once the robe was opened and mostly pulled off Malfoy's frame, Harry's hands continued their quest by tugging on the soft, silk shirt tucked into Malfoy's trousers, pulling it out with little effort. His hands were suddenly under Malfoy's shirt and roaming the highly toned expanse of the taller boy's muscles, nails dragging down the taunt back.

Large hands wrapped around Harry's hips, pulling him clean off the floor. Harry couldn't agree more, wrapping toned legs around Malfoy's waist and arching helplessly as Malfoy ground down against him. His mouth broke free of Malfoy's punishing kiss and he threw his head back, releasing a helpless whine at the sensation and eyes rolling back in his head in untamed pleasure.

" _Fuck!"_ Malfoy suddenly barked, letting go of Harry as if burnt and jumping quickly to his feet.

Harry was dropped to the floor gracelessly, completely disoriented and insanely turned on. He looked up with hooded, unfocused eyes at the boy before him, propping himself up on his elbows and trying desperately to clear the cobwebs from his head so he could understand _what the fuck was happening._

Harry opened his mouth and found he couldn't speak, the drumbeat still filling his ears and shaking his body. He looked at Malfoy helplessly, unsure what to do.

Malfoy braced himself against one of the study desks and panted, looking directly at him with undisguised confusion. He wiped his mouth wiped the back of his hand, face twisting.

"You fucking piece of shit," Malfoy finally growled, startling Harry to his core. "You piece _shit_!" He screamed, and slamming a clenched fist on the table's surface.

Harry scooted back, suddenly aware that he was unarmed and _Malfoy had his wand_. He begged his body to stop shaking in anger, confusion, dread, to no avail. He wasn't sure why this was happening or what was fuelling the madness filling his mind and body and he felt his eyes fill up with tears against his will.

This wasn't supposed to happen. This year was supposed to be _easy_. Harry couldn't _handle_ another year of complete and utter insanity. _Not again!_ Harry's mind wailed wildly.

"Fuck you!" Malfoy screamed, taking out Harry's wand from his robe pocket and throwing it at Harry, who flinched at the movement but caught it with an impressive display of reflexes. Malfoy ran past him, making a break for the carriage door, and Harry tried to scramble back from the hysterical boy. In his effort to escape, Malfoy's boot clipped his face and Harry let out a cry of pain as he heard his nose snap under the pressure.

Malfoy didn't look back, instead ripping open the carriage door and slamming it behind him.

Harry lay his head down on the floor, stunned by the sudden silence and was left staring apathetically at the blood pooling on the carpet by his face. The sun had finally set and darkness descended on the empty carriage, casting shadows on Harry's hunched frame.


	8. Chapter 8: Welcome to the Jungle

Author's note: Thank you to zucca302 and redfox-9 for your reviews and kind words! I really appreciate your feedback as I feel like I'm slightly in the dark on people's reaction to the plot/style of writing/characters/etc. Redfox-9 regarding your question - hopefully the next couple chapters successfully explain Harry & Malfoy's behaviours. I'm trying to keep the stories directly from Harry's perspective so if something is confusing/unexplained for Harry, ideally it should be for the reader. A sincere thank you as well to everyone who has favourited and followed! :) This chapter is slightly awkward, but a necessary one to bridge to the next chapters. I may need to rewrite it in the future but thought I should post it in the meantime... Enjoy!

* * *

 _Harry lay his head down on the floor, stunned by the sudden silence and was left staring apathetically at the blood pooling on the carpet by his face. The sun had finally set and darkness descended on the empty carriage, casting shadows on Harry's hunched frame._

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Welcome To The Jungle**

Harry had fallen asleep in the little carriage, exhausted beyond belief by the day's events. He hadn't needed to interact with so many people since the beginning of the summer and he was remarkably worn out by the freak incident with Malfoy. That's what he had decided to refer it is as – The Incident. _Typical Death Eater scum_ , Harry thought with dark humour as he awoke from a foul, nightmare-plagued nap. The train was stopped, indicating that it had arrived at Hogwarts, but there wasn't the usual hustle and bustle of students so he assumed that he had missed the carriages to the school.

To be honest, Harry couldn't care less. If this was the tone of the school year already, Harry didn't want to disembark. Between Sirius' death, the reading of the will, his Black inheritance, finding out he hosted a horcrux for Lord Voldemort and that the monster couldn't be killed until all of his slimy, god-knows-what soul pieces were located and destroyed – by a basilisk fang no less… Fuck. Harry didn't have the energy.

His wallowing self-pity was interrupted by the carriage door opening with a bang. Harry sat up and met the concerned eyes of Nymphadora Tonks.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks chirped, clearly pleased to see the young wizard.

"Hey, Tonks," Harry replied kindly, unsteadily rising to his feet.

" _Lumos_ ," Tonks chanted, bringing light to the shadowy carriage. "Merlin, Harry! What on earth happened to your face?" She whispered, making her younger charge wince.

"Just an encounter," Harry responded softly, looking down at the brown blood dried to the carpet in shame.

Tonks placed a hand on the edge of Harry's chin and lifted his face up to study his features. He looked at her shyly through thick eyelashes, hoping she wouldn't guess what he had done to himself over the summer.

"I'm not stupid, Harry," Tonks whispered as if she read his mind, looking down at Harry's newly acquired features. "Welcome to the family." She then grabbed him and hugged him with the warmth of an older sister. After a few moments, Harry relaxed and wrapped his arms around Tonk's thin frame.

A sob ripped out of Harry's chest and Tonks stroked his hair gently. He hugged her tightly and they swayed for brief moment, both enjoying the comfort of the other's touch.

"It's okay, Harry," Tonks whispered. "I miss him too. You didn't have to do this, you know."

Harry nodded in her shoulder and then winced as his broken nose shifted, cracking soundly.

Tonks tutted as she drew Harry away and studied him at arm's length. "Oh, Harry. You really do get yourself into the oddest of situations," she scolded without heat, drawing a weak smile from her young charge.

"I don't get it, Tonks. I really could do with a calm year," he admitted softly.

"I know, sweetheart," Tonks answered kindly, a genuine understanding in her voice that warmed Harry's heart. "Let's go and get you cleaned up. Professor Snape will be waiting for you by now."

Before he could protest, Harry was whisked off the train by Tonks, who appeared more sullen and thin since he last saw her _. It looks like the summer was rough on everyone_ , Harry thought to himself. As they walked up the path to Hogwart's entrance gates, Tonks was mostly silent, walking the unsteady path with pursed lips and shadowed eyes. Before the path took the last corner to expose the gates, Harry grabbed Tonks' arm to stop her. She turned to him, expression questioning.

"Would… Would you mind if I contacted you sometime?" Harry enquired softly, feet shifting uncomfortably on the mossy forest floor.

"Of course, Harry," Tonks breathed, suddenly looking alert. "If you promise that I can contact you anytime, that is," she added with a cheeky smile. The expression was so completely Tonks that Harry felt himself tearing up. He brushed his eyes with the back of his hand in embarrassment, pulling a watery laugh from Tonks and she hug Harry fiercely. They composed themselves after a few moments and braved the last corner of the footpath to Hogwarts.

A shadowy figure waited for their arrival, dark and disturbing behind the enormous iron wrought gates. Harry cringed, curling in on himself. While he didn't particularly hate Snape, despite his _much_ deserved emotions of betrayal at the beginning of the summer, he also didn't want to be left alone with the man for any extended period of time. Or at all. _Ever._

"Wait," Tonks suddenly announced, holding Harry back. She pointed her wand at Harry's face and before he could protest, a quick " _Episkey!"_ was thrown in his face. His nose made a rather loud snapping sound and he groaned in relief as the cartilage realigned itself.

"Dramatic, as always," Snape intoned caustically through the silence, piercing Tonks with a glare.

Tonks merely smirked in response, pushing Harry towards the gates. A small doorway opened, instead of the entire set of gates as Harry had expected, and Harry was pulled through aggressively by Snape.

"As always, Auror Tonks, you are excused," Snape sneered, sounding less than pleased to be dumped with Harry Potter on the first day of school.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks crowed, sounding much happier than when she had first found Harry, and disapparated with an ear-splitting _crack!_

Harry refrained from flinching at the loud noise and supressed the wave of insults that washed into his mouth like an ocean wave. _Why hadn't Hagrid come to collect him? Why was this measly, greasy, backstabbing –_ Harry shook his head. He couldn't let himself get caught up in these rollercoaster emotions again, not when it killed his godfather a few months ago. Against his instincts to rip Snape a new one, he kept his lips tightly shut against the onslaught and cleared his mind, a concept that was becoming incredibly easy since the battle of souls ended with Voldemort's horcrux kicked to the proverbial kerb.

"Hmph," Snape hummed in disgust, looking down his hooked nose at Harry. Harry ducked his head in response, carefully studying the heavy scuffs on his new Oxfords that Kreacher had forced onto feet that morning. Harry had pitched a fit about those obscene suede Chelsea boots Kreacher adored and had finally got it into the elf's head that _he did not like suede_. Trying to explain that he preferred muggle sneakers over Italian leather seemed like way too much effort after winning the small battle with the elf. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Kreacher was going to be extremely distraught by the large scratches. The poor house elf had polished them only yesterday. Harry felt bad for the creature despite the hell he'd gone through today; he'd need to get his overworked companion a gift.

Snape seemed irritated by the boy's lack of attitude and jerked his head towards Hogwarts, escorting the boy in silence. Harry spent the time thinking of a gift that would most satisfy his monstrous, evil little house elf.

They finally approached the entrance of the massive castle and Harry looked up in fondness, smiling at the sight of his much-missed home. His heart leapt at the vision of the steeples, the torches and the overall glow of the castle against the backdrop of the milky way.

Just as he looked up, Snape had turned to address Harry with a sneer (Harry doubted the man knew how to speak to people in anything other than scathing hatred) when he caught sight of Harry's face exposed to the light of the torches littering the castle entrance. Snape's hand shot forward, grabbing Harry's chin before he could retreat, and studied the boy's features with appalled shock.

"You stupid, stupid boy," Snape breathed in awe, yanking Harry's neck into painful angles as he looked at Harry's face from every angle. Harry knew pulling away would only bring more pain, so he closed his eyes patiently and waited for the professor to observe his fill.

Finally, his chin was released with a painful push and Snape stepped back to take in Harry's full form.

"God, you look just like Regulus," Snape murmured. Harry resisted rolling his eyes and counted the pebbles on the path before him, lips sealed tightly.

"You even act like him now," Snape whispered once more and Harry raised his eyes to challenge Snape with an unimpressed glare. The man merely laughed disbelievingly. "James Potter's son, becoming a Black by will. What would your parents think?" He whispered in scathing derision. The hatred in his voice was obvious but Harry realised, for possibly the first time, it wasn't directed at him but rather his long-lost father.

"What does it matter?" Harry whispered softly, staring at his professor in exhaustion. He didn't want to have to deal with this nonsense; not now, not ever. " _They're dead, aren't they_?" He pressed sardonically, a pinch rhetorical and a little too cruel.

Snape reared back as if slapped. The silence between them grew heavy as Snape considered the boy before him with a scowl.

"Get a move on, brat," Snape barked, finally breaking the staring contest and walking up the final steps to the castle doors.

Harry smiled darkly at his professor's turned back and followed him home.

* * *

Walking into the Great Hall was just as dramatic as Harry wished it wouldn't be. The heavy doors opened upon Snape's command and the duo were exposed to the curiosity of every face in the hall. Harry studiously ignored the Slytherin table and walked quickly towards the concerned faces of his friends. Upon approaching the table, Hermione gasped and Ron looked a little green.

 _Fuck,_ Harry thought to himself. Was he still covered in blood? Did _Episkey_ not clear blood?

Upon settling down to the shocked, growing whispers of those around him, Hermione quickly whipped out her want and murmured a spell that banished the blood covering his lower face.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry whispered into the growing noise of gossip. She smiled at him despite the tears glimmering in her eyes and he wished dearly that he could have gone straight to bed instead of making a scene in front of the entire school, _again._

"What happened, Harry?" Ron whispered back with righteous anger lighting his eyes. Hermione nodded in agreeance with Ron's enquiry, seeming like she was ready to beat whoever had hurt him by hand.

Harry dared not to look at the Slytherin table, knowing instinctively that Malfoy would be boasting to his friends about how he had seduced the Golden Boy and then beaten his face in. A light blush covered his cheeks, mortified by his actions and not understanding what had happened on the train. Merlin, his life was a depressing mess.

"I'll tell you later, in _The Room_ ," Harry promised hollowly, pouring himself a glass of water and ignoring the dessert piled high on the plates around him. The conversation in the Great Hall had turning into a deafening roar and despite the fact he had not eaten Kreacher's packed lunch, Harry couldn't face swallowing a bite. Not when every person in Hogwarts had seen his great entrance, covered in blood and looking like a direct descendant of the House of Black. If Tonks and Snape had caught on immediately, there was no way this wasn't going to be on the front page of the Daily Prophet tomorrow morning.

Harry couldn't handle looking up at the Head Table either, knowing full well that Dumbledore was looking at him with heavy disappointment. Despite the fact that Harry had the best summer in his entire life, had learned more about defeating Voldemort than in five years of 'Dumbledore lessons', had grieved Sirius' death in the best way he knew possible, _and_ had come into his magical own – Harry knew Dumbledore would _still_ manage to turn this around into some horrible betrayal of trust. He didn't have the energy nor headspace to deal with the old man's manipulations.

Harry politely ignored Hermione's attempts to make him eat and he sat at the table in silence, quietly playing with the gold gallon he procured from his pocket. Once Dumbledore rose to give his welcoming speech, the heavier than ever gossiping died out. Harry wasn't sure what Dumbledore said, for he'd tuned out the man's words exhaustedly. Once everyone stood, he pocketed the gallon and rose to join his classmates.

Hermione muttered on about Dumbledore's speech, trying as she always did to decipher the nonsensical words. Harry didn't have the heart to tell her that Dumbledore may be the most powerful wizard alive, and the best dueller in the past handful of centuries, but he was also completely off his rocker. If she couldn't understand what he meant, the old man was probably just losing his mind.

Once in the Gryffindor Tower, Harry excused himself and collapsed on his four poster bed, wishing dearly that he was in Sirius' room in Grimmauld Place instead.

* * *

The next morning, Harry felt a fair bit better. He was dressed in one of Sirius' dark green shirts and charcoal cotton pants, carefully tailored to his frame by Kreacher not too long before, and wrapped the black robes he had purchased at Madam Malkin's over the summer. Just as he finished dressing, Ron woke with a snort and stumbled out of his bed, feeling out blindly for the bathrooms.

Smiling at his best friend's antics, Harry called out to Ron. "I'll be at breakfast, okay? Don't take too long!" Harry scolded Ron playfully and incidentally waking up his other roommates. He was quickly shooed out with a rather rude finger gestures by his groggily awakening roommates.

Hermione was already at breakfast by the time Harry stepped into the Great Hall. He carefully focused on her face as he made his way over to her, having seen a flash of white-blond hair in his peripheral vision and not ready to face anyone other than his best female friend. He sat down with a sigh of relief, glad to not have been accosted by the other staring students.

"Morning, 'Mione," Harry greeted, watching the girl pull her head out of the morning paper with a start.

"Harry, don't freak out," Hermione began and Harry began to laugh. "What?" She asked, upset.

"I feel like we should make that the motto of my life," he finally answered between chuckles.

Hermione's lips twitched and he could tell the poor girl was trying to stay serious. "Okay," she finally bit out. "I guess that's fair enough."

They dissolved into giggles and the overall mood of the Gryffindor table lightened after seeing the Boy Who Lived laughing.

"Alright, seriously, what did you want to show me?" Harry asked after settling down with a cup of black coffee and a bowl of porridge.

Hermione grimaced and handed Harry the Daily Prophet. He dramatically rolled his eyes as he opened the large paper. Harry groaned as he saw a large image of himself and Snape entering the hall taking up the entire front page. Someone had clearly taken a covert photo last night, to Harry's disgust. Harry was shocked to see himself enter the hall with a dark liquid splattered over the entire lower half of his face, the substance obviously blood even in the black and white photo. He looked savage, as if he had just finished fighting and was now strolling in for his evening snack.

 _Harry Potter: Unseen Battles for Hogwarts!_ Screamed the title in enormous, capital letters _._ _For more details, see page 4._

Though he was a little disturbed by seeing the amount of blood on his face, Harry chuckled darkly. He hadn't realised the break had been quite so bad. He wondered what the editors of the Prophet would say if they found out his nose was accidentally broken after being molested (admittedly willingly) by a sixteen-year-old Death Eater. Though, to be honest, 'accidentally' was debatable. He slapped the paper down on the table with a sneer and dug into his breakfast.

"Merlin, they're fucking morons," Harry muttered into his oatmeal, drawing a loud snort of laughter from a surprised Hermione. He glanced up cheekily at the girl as she quickly wiped away the spilt tea on her robes and smiled at her fierce glare.

"Language, Potter," she warned, though without the customary heat. Harry nodded his head in her direction in deference but couldn't completely hide a playful smile.

They settled into a companionable silence, Hermione finishing reading the paper and muttering in disgust while Harry gazed off into the distance, daydreaming of freedom as he stirred the last of his oats. Professor McGonagall came by a few minutes after Ron ran into the entrance hall, desperate to catch breakfast and inhaling his pork sausages with determination.

McGonagall winced at Ron's lack of table manners and passed the NEWT class schedule over to Hermione, discussing classes while Ron wiped his chin and had the good sense to look ashamed. McGonagall finally turned her attention to Harry and he was surprised to see that her expression softened slightly.

They negotiated the course schedule and Harry was stunned (but ecstatic) to find out that he could take Potions. Harry was suddenly grateful Kreacher had forced him to do the extra classwork for potions during the summer. The biggest stick in the mud was finding out that Snape was now leading DADA (a fact that grated Harry's nerves endlessly), but Ron's suggestion that the old bat was going to fall to the DADA curse put a smile back on Harry's grim face.

 _Hopefully, Snape will be so incapacitated that he won't be able to return next year_ , Harry thought nastily to himself but then he rapidly shook his mind to clear the cruel thoughts. He was disappointed that the professor could rip a hole in Harry's carefully constructed calm, even when he wasn't present. Harry pursed his lips and returned to his schedule, focusing on _clearing his mind_ of all thoughts regarding Severus Snape and how much he'd like to punch the git in the throat.


	9. Chapter 9: The Bog of Eternal Stench

_He was disappointed that the professor could rip a hole in Harry's carefully constructed calm, even when he wasn't present. Harry pursed his lips and returned to his schedule, focusing on clearing his mind of all thoughts regarding Severus Snape and how much he'd like to punch the git in the throat._

* * *

 **Chapter 9:** **The Bog of Eternal Stench**

To Harry's unending despair his first class was double Potions with the Slytherins, which guaranteed that Harry was going to have to face Malfoy straight up every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning. _For two hours._ Harry slunk out the Great Hall with Hermione and Ron in tow, the couple bickering about some nonsense or another.

Harry had managed to keep their travel time brisk, thankfully out pacing their classmates and soon all three were panting in the dungeons, both Hermione and Ron looking at Harry questioningly at their near run to class. As soon as they walked into the Potions classroom, dramatically redecorated since last year, the trio stiffened immediately.

A sweet, musky smell blasted Harry's senses and he suddenly found himself bracing against the back wall of the classroom, the cool stone doing little to cool his feverish body. He clenched his hands into fists tightly, embracing the pain of his nails slicing into his palms. Once he had ridden out most of the wave the smell caused, he glanced up through his eyelashes to see Ron and even Hermione looking completely disarmed and punch drunk by the smell of the room.

A few cauldrons bubbled in the back of the classroom, the steam rising in spirals and the surface of the potion as shiny and opalescent as a pearl.

 _Amortentia_ , a voice whispered in Harry's mind and he groaned audibly at the horribleness of the situation.

The door to the classroom opened and Harry lurched forward, grabbing his friends with impressive control and leading them towards the desks to the far right of the room. He placed himself on the far-left seat, open to the aisle in case he needed to dart out of the room. Hermione and Ron sat uncomfortably next one another, neither meeting one another's eyes but they didn't look nearly as affected as Harry felt.

Harry stared directly ahead as the other students wandered into the room, watching his classmates enter in the reflection of a bell jar at the front of the room. Lavender Brown sighed loudly upon entering the classroom and fluttered against her friend, Parvati, who swooned in response. A group of Slytherins pushed past the duo harshly only to stop in sudden surprise. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini looked pleased by the smell, but immediately snapped out of their trance once Malfoy entered the room. He stiffened, much like Harry had, and began to tremble. Harry watched Parkinson and Zabini grab Malfoy's arm and lead him to sit on the left of the room.

To Harry's surprise, Malfoy fought to sit across the aisle from himself, just an arm's reach away. Harry suppressed an unhappy moan. If Malfoy _ever_ discovered that he was the sole scent of Harry's Amortentia, he would never live it down. Harry stared straight ahead, watching uncomfortably in the corner of his eye as Malfoy turned and pinned him with a heated glare.

"Harry?" Whispered a voice to Harry's right.

Harry jumped lightly in his seat as his intense concentration was broken and he turned to face an extremely worried Hermione. "Yes, Hermione?" He bit out patiently, hoping he didn't seem too rude.

"Your hands are bleeding," she whispered back and Harry looked down at his fists in his lap, realising with surprise that he was still clenching his hands. With concentrated effort, Harry relaxed his hands and smiled weakly at her. "And… Your pupils are _really_ dilated, Harry," Hermione added unhelpfully.

Harry closed his eyes in horror. He was so tightly wound, especially with the object of his humiliating secret sitting just a few feet away, that he could almost hear his jawbones grinding as he fought for control.

"It happens sometimes," Hermione continued in a whisper. "Some people have really strong reaction to the potion, even if just the smell. It's called _Amortentia_ and it's an extremely strong love potion; everyone smells their own heart's desire. I'm also pretty sure it's insanely illegal, if not incredibly immoral, to have it brewing in an unaired classroom, getting a bunch of unattended students high," she added crisply in a strong tone of disapproval.

Harry looked at her helplessly as his fists curled back in on themselves. "I guess the new professor is hoping to sedate us for introductions," Harry gritted back through clenched teeth, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood.

Hermione look at him in horror.

"I'm kidding, Hermione," Harry whispered, looking down at his lap.

"No," Hermione contradicted. "I think you're right." The thought made Harry sick.

Finally, the professor bumbled into the classroom a minute late, chortling and chatting up the students and overall being a complete slime ball. Harry was briefly accosted by the man and he looked up through his eyelashes at the pompous bastard. He nodded politely at whatever the man was saying, not hearing anything over the roaring crash of waves in his ears and the pulse of a drumbeat.

"I think you need to go to the hospital wing," Hermione whispered in Harry's direction as Professor Slughorn completed his round of the classroom, introducing himself to whomever he deemed important.

Harry barely heard her over the blood rushing his hears and he nodded curtly.

Hermione's hand shot up into the air.

"So I said, _Mr. Undersecretary, there is no way I can take your lake house for the entire summer! Not when you have much more important guests to host, such as the Minister himself!_ " Slughorn chortled. "But _then_ the man said –"

Slughorn looked up at Hermione's excited, waving hand. "Yes, my dear?" He asked, sounding a little bitter at having been cut off.

"Harry's not feeling well, Professor," Hermione stated firmly. "I need to take him to the hospital wing."

"Oh, my!" Slughorn squawked, scuttling towards Harry who in turn tensed harder.

"It's alright, professor," Hermione interrupted the professor's approach. "I'll escort him and then return as fast as possible."

Slughorn's beady eyes were focused exclusively on Harry, who felt the weight of the critical gaze with irritation, but then he flapped an unconcerned hand in Hermione's direction. "Very well," he announced dismissively.

Not waiting to hear the conditions of their release, Hermione stood so quickly that her chair nearly toppled over. She grabbed Harry's forearm, collected both of their book bags, and shot out of the classroom in one sweeping motion.

They walked for five minutes silently, Hermione charging forward with rabid determination and tugging Harry behind her with an iron grip on his forearm. Harry finally regained control of his body after dazedly following behind and lightly tugged on his arm. Hermione whipped around like a boomerang as they stopped and she hugged Harry tightly.

"That sick, perverted, ridiculous joke of a man… _Ooh how dare Dumbledore hire_ _that, that…_ " Hermione stuttered angrily into Harry's shoulder, fuming so hard that Harry could feel the sheer heat of her fury against his neck.

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry soothed, patting the enraged girl's back. "We'll just need to make up another extracurricular class. How does _Snape's Army_ sound to you?"

Hermione choked out a disbelieving laugh, pulling away to study Harry.

"You really have changed over the summer, haven't you?" Hermione asked softly, eyes searching.

"You have no idea," Harry agreed, smiling at his best friend.

"So," Hermione announced, lacing her fingers with Harry's and leading him down the hallway. "Feel like skiving off the first class of the term?" She asked playfully, sending Harry a mischievous smile.

"Wait," Harry crooned in disbelief as he allowed himself to be pulled down the hall. "Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?"

Hermione laughed, lightly hitting Harry's shoulder. "Hush you," she murmured, but her eyes glittered with cheek.

"What did you smell?" Harry enquired, watching as Hermione turned slightly red as they strolled side by side, hands still intertwined.

"Grass, peppermint, and… well," she trailed off, blush spreading down her neck.

"Ron?" Harry asked curiously.

Hermione squawked and her head whipped around to fix him with a glare. At his lack of judgemental reaction, she gave up and sighed. "That obvious, huh?"

Harry hummed his agreement. "Ron's just as bad. I'm sure he smelled parchment, ink and rose water," he teased. Hermione lit up in embarrassment, but she seemed pleased under her neon blush.

"What about you? What gets Harry Potter that hot under the collar?" Hermione retorted.

"Malfoy," Harry answered truthfully. Hermione broke out into peals laughter.

"Don't even tease me like that," Hermione gasped between chuckles.

Harry cocked his head at Hermione and gave her a self-depreciating smile.

"Oh, my god," Hermione exclaimed, dragging Harry to a halt. "Tell me you're joking," she demanded. "Seriously, Harry. Tell me you're joking."

Harry looked down at the floor in shame and Hermione clapped a scandalised hand over her mouth.

"Room of Requirement, now," Hermione stated, expression bewildered but eyes hard as glass.

Harry nodded miserably and followed Hermione to the seventh floor.

* * *

Once they had settled into their old training room, summoning plush chairs to sit around the crackling hearth, Hermione affixed Harry with her best McGonagall glare. Harry stared into the fire as he steepled his fingers, pressing them lightly to his lips in thought. They hadn't spoken since his revelation in the dungeons and Harry wasn't sure where to even start.

Hermione let out a noisy sigh and rolled her head back to look at the ceiling.

"I'm not that mad, you know," she finally said, breaking the silence.

Harry made a noise close to a laugh, but it was hollow and mirthless.

Hermione looked back at Harry with pursed lips. "It's just… You know. _Him_ ," she emphasised, nose scrunching in distaste.

"Oh, I know," Harry assured her, still looking deep into the flames.

"And he's just so… _Him_ ," she repeated helplessly, at a loss for words.

"With my luck, I'm just glad it's not Voldemort," Harry deadpanned, flickering his gaze to study Hermione's reaction.

The girl shuddered and made a noise close to gagging, clenching the arm rests of her chair tightly.

"You have the sickest sense of humour, you know that?" Hermione asked rhetorically, a smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

Harry finally relaxed, tilting his head back in his chair and resting his eyes. "Still love me?" He whispered into the room.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed sympathetically. "Of course, you dunderhead. It's going to take a lot more than a blond git to drive a wedge between us."

Harry smiled and peaked an eye open at the girl. She was clearly deep in thought, the cogs in her head whirring away as she processed the new information.

"I think something happened," Harry said quietly. "When I accepted the Black genes," he elaborated at her quizzical look.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione pressed, leaning forward in her chair and studying Harry intently.

With no little effort, Harry finally told Hermione the story of following Malfoy down Knockturn Alley, of discovering Voldemort wanted a cabinet in Borgin and Burkes, and _painfully_ regaling The Incident. As he summarised the events of the train, her face grew darker and darker with each passing word.

"And then I sat down at the table, you vanished the blood, and the rest is history," Harry ended a little anti-climatically.

"So Malfoy's a Death Eater, he's on a mission from Voldemort, he cornered you on the train, snogged you stupid, and then broke your nose," Hermione stated, looking ready to enact her own version of Harry Hunting featuring a certain blond haired ferret.

"Basically," Harry answered simply.

"What a smarmy, ferrety little shit," Hermione breathed furiously. At Harry's look of surprise, she snorted. "It's just so typically Malfoy and yet not," she whispered, looking pensive.

"I know," Harry agreed, turning back to face the fire. "I think Voldemort marked him as punishment for his father getting caught in the Ministry of Magic. That this mission is some kind of impossible task that's going to end with Malfoy dead at Voldemort's feet. Malfoy seems to know it as well," Harry murmured.

"So what exactly is the point of coming onto you? Why do this when he's already in bad favour? What does he stand to get out of this?" Hermione asked curiously in brainstorming mode, eyes unfocused as she considered each angle.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "Malfoy knows something. Something about being blood adopted into the Black family that I don't. You should have seen the look on Narcissa Malfoy's face, Hermione," Harry pressed thoughtfully. "On the train station. It looked like she'd seen a ghost. And Malfoy seemed just as resistant to whatever happened between us as I was. He was… Mad. At _me._ But I don't think he intentionally broke my nose. There's no doubt that he didn't notice it," Harry explained at Hermione's scandalised look. "But he was trying to get away just as fast as I wanted him to leave."

Hermione nodded as she processed the new information.

"You know," Hermione hummed thoughtfully. "There's one option that we haven't discussed yet."

Harry stared at her quizzically, gesturing for her to continue.

"It's actually pretty straightforward," Hermione admitted. "Have you heard of Occam's Razor?"

At Harry's noise of disagreement, Hermione continued. "Occam's Razor is basically a theory for distilling a problem to the simplest terms possible and deducing an answer that sounds closest to the truth. Not to overstate its simplicity, but essentially the theory states that the most probable answer is often the simplest." She looked at Harry meaningfully, as if willing him to understand.

Harry stared at Hermione in confusion. "And what's the simplest answer?"

"Well," she answered slowly. "The simplest answer is that… You fancy Malfoy."

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "I thought we established that," he retorted bluntly.

Hermione gave him an exasperated look at waved her hands helplessly in the air. "Don't play stupid, Harry. Not because of some ancient pureblood curse. Just plain and simple. You like him," she pressed, leaning forward as Harry scoffed and turned to the fire. "Especially since you two have been at one another's throat for the past five years. He's been pulling your proverbial pigtails since the moment he met you. You've been complaining about him ever since. You constantly bicker and needle one another day in and day out, not to mention obsessing for hours on how to get one over on the other. And now you've come back to school, looking like an heir to one of the darkest, most ancestral houses of purebloods, and Malfoy's been completely taken off guard and is falling over himself to not constantly corner you and snog you to death."

Harry gaped at Hermione, who had finished her tirade with a flush and settled back uncomfortably into the chair.

"Don't look at me like that, Harry," Hermione huffed. "Blame the Razor. Besides, everyone knows the Blacks have a penchant for incest," she sniffed, blush growing darker despite her know-it-all tone.

Harry blanched. "What the hell do you mean?" He asked, choking on his words.

Hermione pinned Harry with an incredulous look. "Um, Harry," she asked softly, as if speaking to a frightened animal. "You do know that you're technically second cousins now, right?"

Harry turned a sickly shade of white and even his thinned lips paled considerably.

"Oh, my god," Hermione gasped. "You really didn't know, did you? Because now you're technically Sirius' son in flesh and blood and he is a direct cousin of Narcissa Malfoy and – "

Harry held up his hand quickly to stop Hermione's babbling, silencing her immediately.

"Hermione, I swear to Merlin and the spirit of Hogwarts herself that if you _don't stop talking this instant I will literally vomit all over you_."

Hermione's open mouth snapped shut with a loud clack and they both stared at one another, Harry white as paper and Hermione looking nauseated at his threat. They were silent for several minutes as Harry composed himself.

"So, what you're saying is," Harry started slowly, carefully considering each word. "I'm in love with Draco Malfoy, my second cousin in blood, and we simply can't keep our hands off one other because of hormones."

Hermione shrunk into her chair and peered at Harry miserably. "Until another answer comes up… Yes," she whispered.

Harry nodded and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back on the headrest of the chair. The two friends sat in silence as they ran down the clock until Potions class ended.

* * *

Harry and Hermione wandered down through the classroom five minutes before classes got out. Harry wasn't particularly interested in having to wade through throngs of leering students and he knew that word would get out immediately that he panicked in Slughorn's class. Just as Harry turned a corner on their way to Charms, Hermione trailing slightly behind him, Harry caught sight of Draco Malfoy storming down the hallway, looking as if he was on a warpath.

Their eyes met briefly, a clash of green and grey, and Harry felt the blood drain from his face at Malfoy's dark smirk of victory.

Harry shoved Hermione back around the corner and whipped out his invisibility cloak. He muffled Hermione's yelp with his hand and draped the cloth over them, holding her tightly against the wall. Just as she began to squirm, Malfoy rounded the corner looking to rip someone's throat out.

He balked at the seemingly empty hallway, a long corridor with only a staircase at the end and no doors to escape behind.

Hermione stopped moving and glanced at Harry, who carefully withdrew his hand from her mouth. He pressed a finger against his lips and she nodded nervously, returning to stare at the baffled but enraged blond.

Malfoy carefully looked around and, for a heart stopping moment, Harry was sure the boy saw him. Then Malfoy scowled darkly and continued stomping down the corridor, disappearing down the stairs and echoing steps fading away after a moment that felt like a lifetime.

"Merlin," Hermione breathed. "When did he get so scary?"

"About the same time I lost my Gryffindor bravery," Harry muttered distractedly, finally removing the cloak and tucking it into his knapsack.

"Thank god you carry the cloak with you," Hermione said, still looking a little haunted by their near encounter with Malfoy. Harry nodded, looking speculatively at the direction Malfoy went.

"Harry," Hermione whispered, gaining his attention. "I think I take back what I said about the Razor. There's definitely something else going on."

Harry smiled at her a little sardonically and gestured for her to lead the way to class. Once her back was turned, Harry frowned and fell deep into thought.

* * *

The Hogwarts rumour mill was in full force by the time Harry and Hermione walked into the Great Hall for lunch. Hermione wasn't usually privy to such gossip, as most of the students saw her as a nark, and no one had the guts to say to Harry's face what they whispered behind his back, so the pair walked in deaf to the nonsense begin spread about them. Their usual aid in hearing the newest stories was either Ron, as he often got an earful from a gleeful Dean and Seamus, or Ginny, who was somehow always aware of every snippet of gossip on the grapevine.

Hermione and Harry walked quickly to the table, Hermione's face beginning to grow anxious as the muttering grew exponentially in volume at their entrance. Harry remained calm, though irritation began to stir deep in his chest, and made a point of looking directly at the seat he was aiming for. A few students catcalled, making Hermione dart her head around and blush just as she had down across the table from Ron.

"What on earth is going on?" Hermione hissed at Ron, who was staring at a pile of food on his plate glumly and looking a little green around the gills.

Harry sat down next to her and poured himself a glass of water, keeping a close eye on his mate's queasy expression.

"Oh, I don't know," Ron suddenly snapped, looking everywhere but Harry and Hermione. "Maybe it's the brief shag you two shared in the broom cupboard on the seventh floor during Potions."

Their section of the Gryffindor went deathly silent and Ron's voice carried unnaturally.

"Excuse me?" Hermione cried out, griping the table edge so hard her knuckles turned white.

"Look at me," Harry intoned darkly, staring straight ahead at his best friend.

Ron's wandering eyes snapped to Harry, surprised by the dangerous tone.

"That's bullshit and you know it," Harry whispered. Lavender and Parvati leaned close to their side a little too obviously, causing Hermione to whip her head around to glare at the nosy girls.

Ron's eyes darted between Harry, who was staring at him with quiet intensity, and Hermione who was still glaring down her two blushing classmates. "Whatever," he fumed. Ron stood up quickly, gathered his bags and walked out of the Great Hall without a second glance back.

"What, what," Hermione began to splutter, wringing her wrists in horror. "How dare – how _dare_ he?"

Harry didn't respond and instead stared at the spot Ron had just vacated. This seemed to be an annual tradition for Ron. Act like an enormous ass, run away, then come back with his tail between his legs. A vicious cycle of throwing Harry under the proverbial bus, verbally abusing Hermione to tears, and then acting like it was all just one big mistake and _couldn't they please forgive him_?

Harry felt his body numb with rage but carefully kept his hands relaxed and face slack. The crescent cuts on his palms from earlier that morning still stung and he focused on the physical pain rather than the dry ice consuming his stomach.

Harry slowly rose to his feet and offered Hermione his hand. She accepted it, confused, and he leaned close to whisper, "Let's eat in the kitchens. Dobby and Kreacher will get us whatever we want." At her nod, Harry walked Hermione out of the Great Hall briskly. As soon as they crossed the threshold into the hallway, the whispers turned into a deafening roar and Hermione visibly flinched.

Hermione took one look at Harry and burst into tears. He quickly pulled her aside into the nearest alcove and held her as she sobbed. His eyes grew flinty and cold as he listened to Hermione's heart break, resolve strengthening. Something had to be done about Ronald Weasley.


	10. Chapter 10: Friends In High Places

_Hermione took one look at Harry and burst into tears. He quickly pulled her aside into the nearest alcove and held her as she sobbed. His eyes grew flinty and cold as he listened to Hermione's heart break, resolve strengthening. Something had to be done about Ronald Weasley._

* * *

 **Chapter 10: Friends In High Places**

The clever thing about juicy rumours, Harry considered, was that they always contained a nugget of truth. It was easy to figure out that portraits had seen Harry and Hermione holding hands as they made the walk up to the Room of Requirement. A few students were sneaky enough to listen to the whispers of the painted canvases and would quickly run to tell their friends. Word would have undoubtable circulated about Harry's 'illness' in Potions (he would put gallons on the story having leaked before Potions had even ended), so it was easy to combine the two rumours into one obscene tale.

Once a notorious gossip like Romilda Vane, Marietta Edgecombe (whose pimples were long gone but grudge as strong as ever), or Lavender Brown had caught whiff, it was basically the same as someone standing in the centre of the Great Hall and shouting out the news like a demented town crier. Harry mused that the rumour was mostly fuelled by the fact that that he was _Harry Bloody Potter,_ the world's easiest target. That and Hermione was loathed by all three girls, who gleefully took every opportunity to rip their talented classmate down.

Hermione had grown into her own over the summer, becoming a stunning vision of intelligence, elegance and classically good looks. Harry once would have assumed that in of itself was enough to inspire the raging jealously of the other girls. But Harry knew it was more than just his best friend's newfound confidence, a darker and crueller storm boiling under the surface.

During his etiquette classes, Harry had discovered that promotion of muggleborn rights fell in and out of favour almost once a decade. Though it was 'fashionable' for liberal families to promote muggleborn equality these days, the same families very rarely committed to the idea in practice. Their pureblood children, despite being told that the muggleborn community was equal _in many ways_ , were silently pushed away from marrying non-purebloods, let alone _those descended of muggles_. It was a sickly-sweet and hypocritical at best. Even the Weasleys, some of the most liberal purebloods Harry knew, treated muggleborns as if they were a special child at which one would look down their nose. To Wizarding Society as a whole, muggleborns were just… _Less._

Harry knew that the fact Hermione could outsmart everyone with ease despite being ignorant of magic until _eleven_ must burn at those envious half-bloods and purebloods around her. She was rising above her "station", outshining even the privately tutored. It was hard to tell a muggleborn that she didn't quite belong when she was better than any student her age – pureblood or not. It was due to this that Hermione, _smart, clever, wily Hermione_ , would always be pushed down by her peers.

 _Tall Poppy Syndrome_ , Harry had heard it referred to as once. The thought tapped into a pool of rage Harry had fought all summer to muzzle.

The dark musings had Harry glaring in poorly concealed disgust at the students in the halls who dared to purse their lips pettily and stage whisper in uppity tones as Hermione walked by. While Harry would never be able to think of Hermione romantically, he felt as strongly and protectively of her as he would a sister. He had never wanted to hurt anyone younger than him before, but listening to a gaggle of third year girls gossip loudly about Hermione's rampant 'sluttiness' within the poor girl's hearing nearly had him casting a permanent slug eating curse on the entire Great Hall.

Ron had once more decided that both Harry and Hermione were personae non gratae. It seemed a few Hogwarts students of varying houses had become bored with the pro-Harry media over the summer and jumped on the bandwagon, sneering at Harry with distaste and gossiping about the Backstabbing of Ron. Ron took this as encouragement and promptly began a rather physical, extremely public affair with the head of Ron's Side (as it was embarrassingly titled), Lavender Brown.

However, the majority of the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws seemed extremely uncomfortable with the entire situation and tried to play nice with both parties. Only Neville and Ginny sat resolutely on Hermione and Harry's side of the table and provided a buffer to the constant awkward silences. Thankfully, the two largest mouth-pieces of the movement, Ron and Lavender, had decided to mesh together for the time being and the division slowly puttered out into nothing.

The only group that didn't seem to take any form of interest was the Slytherin house, which Harry found surprising as the smarmy bastards loved to adopt a viciously untrue Potter rumour and run wild with it. He was extremely unnerved to discover that no buttons, banners or fanfare had come of the situation and it made him suspicious.

At first, Hermione had scowled at his theory and laughed it off as paranoid. But as the days passed since the first day of class and not _one word_ of the subject was broached by a green-tied student, from the littlest first year to the biggest seventh, even she started paying attention.

* * *

Hermione and Harry sat in the Room of Requirement warming their feet, chairs positioned around a summoned circular fire pit in the middle of the room. The smoke curled lazily up into the rafters, disappearing without a trace, the smell and sound of the crackling fire soothing the group's nerves. Neville, Ginny and Luna had joined them for a discussion and it had quickly devolved into Harry's obsession with the Slytherin silence.

"Harry, maybe they just have a lot going on right now," Hermione said, always the voice of reason to a fault.

"Yeah, all seventy-five students have more going on right now than every other student in the school," Harry shot back sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Seriously, Harry," Hermione insisted, frowning at his childish antics. "There's a war brewing on the horizon and I wouldn't be surprised if they've all grown up a bit."

Harry opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Ginny's voice cutting across the room.

"Harry, while we're on the subject, did you _really_ shag Hermione in the broom cupboard?" She asked cheekily, though a dark undertone belayed her light humour. Neville immediately blanched, a spectacular beetroot-red blush flaring up his neck, and even Luna put down her _Quibbler_ to peer over her cut-out spectacles at the duo with interest.

"No," Harry answered shortly, hoping it would be the end of the conversation.

"Seriously, Harry, tell the truth. It's been a week, so no one will be any more upset now than they were before if you just fronted up," Ginny pressed encouragingly as she tried to needle an answer from the frowning boy.

"I'm gay," he responded abruptly and continued staring into the flames with disinterest, ignoring Ginny's flabbergasted expression, Neville's shrinking frame, and Luna's leering smile.

Even Hermione was gaping at him and Harry realised the subject was going to be discussed with or without his participation. He scowled and leaned back into the chair, adjusting his feet by the fire.

"What?!" Ginny squawked after a beat of silence, leaping to her feet. "Merlin, this is so much better than the 'sex with your pseudo sister' shit!" She bounced on the balls of her feet, clearly torn about who to run and tell first.

"Ginny!" Screamed Hermione, a shrill sound that had everyone jumping in their seat. "Hasn't Harry been through enough, yet?" Hermione then burst into tears, hands covering her face as she sobbed.

Ginny immediately deflated and sat down, looking embarrassed and upset.

"It doesn't matter who knows," Harry muttered, trying to clear his mind while looking into the flames.

Hermione looked up with surprise, tear tracks glittering in the fire light.

"It's not like anyone actually cares," Harry continued. He suddenly laughed, a sound hollow and rough. "It'll be the next hot topic for a few weeks, then a barb in conversations for the next forty years. Provided Voldemort doesn't turn me into dust first."

The group sat completely still, looking at the sullen boy in shock. Luna rose to her feet and walked over, crawling over his armrest to sit in his lap. Harry looked at her with surprise as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him awkwardly. Harry snapped out of his dark mood instantly and smiled tenderly at the blonde girl.

"I care," Luna whispered. "Whether you're happy, that is."

Murmurs of agreement chimed in and Harry bowed his head, grateful for the support he had.

* * *

Though she would never admit it, Ginny had been a little suspicious of Harry and Hermione's relationship and had felt a little defensive of her brother at the first scent of foul play. She had taken Harry and Hermione's side, especially since Ron was acting like _such_ a prat, but a little piece of her still doubted if she was doing the right thing.

But after she finally dragged the full story from Hermione at Harry's approval, Ginny had reeled with shock and, well, was kind of surprisingly unsurprised. To her irritation, Hermione's lips were sealed on the matter of _whom_ Harry smelled in his Amortentia. But Harry's revelation that he only discovered his 'tastes' during that exact moment in Potion's class on the first day of sixth year was a fact 'so adorably, typically oblivious Harry' (her words exactly) that Ginny focused on coddling Harry instead.

Harry was sure that no amount of head damage was going to remove the memory of Ginny cornering Harry in the common rooms and announcing that they were going to have _so much girl talk._ He didn't have the energy to tell her that being gay didn't automatically mean that he also liked all the things she did. It seemed she was a little starved for effeminate sibling relationships, so he allowed the girl to prattle on for hours about so-and-so's new six pack and whatnot and silently begged the gods to oblivate him on the spot.

On the bonus side, Ginny's realisation of Harry and Hermione's genuine 'just-friends' relationship seemed to be a turning stone in the fight against the Hogwarts rumour mill. Harry had never realised it before, but Ginny was a very popular girl. As in, very, very popular. It seemed due to a combination of being from a well-known pureblood family, friends with upper-classmen (and close confidant of Harry Potter), dating an older boy who snuck her butterbeer, attractive, a rising star on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and now a household name for having joined Harry at the Battle of the Ministry. Ginny also made sure she worked all of these facts to her advantage with Slytherin-esqe cleverness.

He was stunned to note that little Ginny was one hell of a catch. He then realised that he probably should have figured out from day one that he wasn't into girls if he couldn't even give Ginerva Weasley a second glance. ' _Classically oblivious Harry'_ , indeed, he thought to himself.

By deciding to fully defend Harry and Hermione's honour and scoffing at all attempts to string out the rumour of their 'fling', Ginny had put most of the fifth and lower years of Gryffindor in their place. However, it took one girl to put most of Hogwarts in place.

Bathsheba Belby, a pinched girl in Ginny's year who followed the redhead like a lackey, had attempted to make an ill-witted joke regarding Hermione's propriety in the commons after supper. Though the joke had become so over used by now that even the first years rolled their eyes, a few girls tittered meanly. It was then that Ginny finally snapped. She began to laugh. It soon turned into a fit and the girl's overly dramatic wails of laughter rang out in the commons, bringing out every student in the house, even from within the depths of the sleeping quarters.

Ginny made a scene of calming herself down dramatically and fluttered her hand against her chest, wiping tears of mirth off her face and pointedly stared at Bathsheba the entire time.

"Are you alright, Ginny?" Emily Mudgeright asked, concerned for her friend.

"Oh, you know," Ginny chuckled lightly. "It's just that Bessie (a nickname that had the other girl cringing) is _so funny_. I really don't know where the girl gets it from. Hey, Bessie," she called out, drawing all eyes to the girl. "How did you get _so funny?"_

Bathsheba had looked around like a frightened mouse, silently begging for the others to help her as the redhead approached her.

"I, I," she stuttered, backing away helplessly.

"You're just _so funny,_ Bessie. I think you should do stand-up comedy. Perhaps you should start now with a show for the whole house, hm?" Ginny then turned to the rest of the Gryffindors, who watched the scene with bated breath, and flung out her arms to gesture to the crowd. "Who wants to see Bessie here tell a joke? Go on, Bessie, say it again!" Ginny crowed.

Harry and Hermione descended the stairs of their respective rooms, confused by the commotion.

"Harry, Hermione!" Ginny shouted. "C'mon, get down here!"

Bathsheba shook her head, looking close to tears, as the duo cautiously approached a vaguely hysteric Ginny. Ginny whipped around and grasped Bathsheba's hands, ignoring the girl's flinch, and dragged her across the common room to meet Harry and Hermione halfway.

"Ginny, what are you doing?" Hermione asked, appalled.

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny gushed. "You really must hear this joke Bessie made." Ginny turned to the ashen, shaking girl, and gripped her hands tighter. "Go on, Bessie, everyone's waiting."

Bathsheba began to cry silently, trying to tug her hands out of Ginny's white-fisted grasp.

"Say it," Ginny demanded suddenly, expression cold and voice echoing in the deathly silent room. Harry was shocked at the display; for a brief moment, he could see the influence Tom Riddle had on the youngest Weasley as she commandeered the room in an effortless power play.

Bathsheba accidentally locked eyes with Harry and she whispered ashamedly, "I a-a-asked if Harry had found his f-f-firebolt yet, be-because I th-think I s-saw st-sticking out of Her-Hermione's sk-skirt."

Hermione turned bright red and gasped, but Harry kept his eyes affixed coolly on the younger girl's.

Ginny let go of Bathsheba without warning and the girl tumbled to the floor. "Hm, no," Ginny said, in paux disappointment. "It really wasn't that funny this time around. Actually, it sounded a little mean," Ginny announced.

Ginny turned to Hermione and Harry, continuing with her elaborate, overacted skit with joy. "Hermione, Harry, do you think that was funny?" She asked curiously.

"Ginny," whispered Hermione, horrified and still blushing to her roots.

"No, I don't," Harry answered tonelessly. "I think that was _supposed_ to be mean."

Ginny grinned at Harry, winked, then turned to a very traumatised Bathsheba. "See? _Harry fucking Potter_ doesn't think that was very nice. What do you say to someone when you hurt their feelings, Bessie?"

Bathsheba trembled, still trapped under Harry's pinning gaze, and whispered inaudibly.

"What was that, _Bessie_?" Ginny pressed, sickly sweet.

"I'm sorry!" Bathsheba screamed, jumping up and running. She bolted for the entrance door and tumbled through, picking herself up and sprinting down the corridor. The door creaked and swung, pushed by a draft in the chilly hallway.

Ginny turned to the entirety of Gryffindor House (minus Ron and Lavender, who seemed to always be shut away somewhere outside of class) and scowled at them darkly.

"I get it that you all like to get your rocks off by putting others down, but now is not the time," Ginny hissed and, though her voice was low, the sound reverberated in the deafening silence. "Harry and Hermione are a little too busy trying to _save your fucking lives_ by fighting the most powerful Dark Lord in _centuries_ , not fight stupid rumours about shit you know nothing about."

A few people shifted uncomfortably.

"You either stand with us or against us. There's no grey area in the battlefield, where you can skulk in the shadows and both publicly cheer and privately mock your champions. For _shame!_ " Ginny yelled, the noise shocking a few flinches out of her audience. "We're going to need to unite this year. Not against _Slytherin_ or Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff," she emphasised, disgustedly, "But rather against people who want to rip you from your beds as you sleep and murder your families before your very eyes. Who will steal your magic and will and then turn it against those you love."

Ginny stopped talking as her voice broke. Harry put a comforting hand on Ginny's shoulder. He could hear the scared little eleven-year-old in her once more, crying into his shoulder as they flew to freedom out of a secret death chamber. Her tiny, weak voice begging him to believe that _she didn't want to do it_.

"This stops tonight. You study hard, you work hard, and you protect your own," Harry announced, taking over Ginny's stage. "You don't have to fight with me, or even alongside me. But don't think for a second that you won't have to fight. Let's just get on with the year and enjoy being children a little while longer."

The older Gryffindors voiced their agreement and even though the younger years looked frightened, they nodded in response.

"Mr. Potter," a harsh voice admonished from behind him. Harry turned around to see a furious Professor McGonagall holding the elbow of a tear-stained Bathsheba in the open portal of the common room entrance. "What in Merlin's name is going on in here?" The woman's voice snapped. Like a whip had cracked, every single Gryffindor abandoned their pride and scrambled at once to their bedrooms in a flurry of movement.

In seconds, Harry, Hermione and Ginny were standing alone to face the trembling professor.

"Go to bed!" McGonagall snapped at the girl in her grasp. She let the girl's elbow go and Bathsheba scrambled past them quickly, running up the stairs to the sleeping quarters at breakneck speed.

"You three, come with me," McGonagall demanded, brooking no room for argument, and strode out of the common room.

"I didn't even do anything!" Hermione breathed, upset at the turn of events.

"Ah, and yet you're always caught with the troublemakers," McGonagall responded from a fair way ahead. Hermione paled, horrified by the woman's sharp hearing.

The trio followed the stalking Deputy Headmistress through the halls of the castle. McGonagall made quick work of opening her office door and shooed the students inside.

Once they had settled into the office, all three sitting on uncomfortably hard wooden chairs and McGonagall settled nicely into a comfortable looking, wingback leather chair, the woman's demeanour softened.

"Professor –" Hermione started explaining desperately, always the first to break when it came to the Head of her house.

"Ms. Granger," McGonagall cut her off. "I'm not mad at you. Well, perhaps at Ms. Weasley – that was a little harsh," she scolded lightly, peering at Ginny over her spectacles.

Ginny had the decency to blush. "She had it coming, Professor," Ginny muttered defiantly, looking down at her shoes. "I've been telling her all week to stop with the jokes about Hermione and Harry. I just… Snapped."

Professor McGonagall hummed noncommittedly. She summoned a highball glass and a crystal flagon from a bookshelf. She poured herself a fifth of dark coloured liquid and sipped it quietly, ignoring Hermione's gape.

"We are indeed in dark times," McGonagall stated after a few minutes of silence. "I find that as the outside looms near, people will try harder to bury their heads in the sand and fill their days with nonsense – if only to hold the horrors at a bay a little while longer."

Harry nodded at the woman, who was looking wearier and more stressed with each passing day.

"Well, I suppose I must punish you," McGonagall sighed as she put down her empty glass.

Hermione's wide eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Oh, Ms. Granger, don't look at me like that," McGonagall huffed. "You must begin to understand that there is nothing I could possibly do to you to hurt you, nor any other figure of authority in this school. With the exception of expulsion, of course," the woman muttered, waving her hand dismissively. "You really must realise by now that you are an adult, or at least on the cusp of being one, and that house points, homework, and detentions mean nothing in the end."

Hermione twisted her hands, seemingly shocked by the elder woman's words, but smart enough to nod and accept her professor's knowledge.

"Alright, ladies, out with you. I really must speak with Mr. Potter alone," McGonagall dismissed the girls distractedly. Just as the girls had reached the door, she added, "Ah, and thirty points from Gryffindor."

Both girls looked at one another, clearly horrified but trying to not appear affected, and scampered out of the room. They shut the door tightly behind them and their steps could be heard fading down the hall.

During the entire meeting, Harry had kept his eyes trained faithfully on McGonagall. He quietly watched her movements, her mannerisms, her gestures – and smelt a rat.

Just as McGonagall turned to address Harry, in a flash of movement he reached out his right hand and cast a wordless, wandless stunning charm. Unlike charms from a wand, which were directional, small beams of light, Harry had discovered that casting with his palm spread out often caused the spell to spread out like a net made of the five points of his fingers. It caught McGonagall soundly by surprise, the red web of magic wrapping around her face and knocking her out instantly.

Harry was grateful that the deputy headmistress was seated for she certainly would have collapsed spectacularly to the floor otherwise. He wasn't sure if she was not herself, but rather a polyjuiced version under another's control – in the event she wasn't, he certainly didn't want to deal with a bruised McGonagall seeking revenge.

Harry absolutely, one hundred percent did not want to deal with Dumbledore or Snape at this hour, or ever, but he acknowledged that he may be slightly out of his depth. And there was no way in hell that he was going to summon Ginny or Hermione to face down whatever was sitting in the chair before him.

He took out his wand, still a little bitter that he couldn't produce the Patronus Charm wandlessly yet, and summoned his stag. To Harry's surprise, instead a truly enormous dragon curled out of his wand. It was a humungous beast, long and narrow with wings that filled the room, and it turned on Harry with reptilian, alien-like eyes. He smiled at the patronus warmly despite the confusion and the beast snorted a misty, clear vapour resembling smoke through its sharp nostrils. _A Norwegian Ridgeback_ , Harry realised with a laugh.

"Hello, there," Harry whispered, reaching his hand out to touch the beast's evanescent head and it closed its eyes, leaning towards the impossible touch. "Could you please deliver a message to Dumbledore and Snape?"

The beast reacted precisely how Harry felt about the matter, baring wickedly sharp teeth and snorting blue flame.

"Ah, I know," Harry whispered laughingly into the silence. "But it really is an emergency. Please repeat after me: 'Come to McGonagall's office immediately. There's a situation.'"

The dragon tilted his head at Harry and looked at him sullenly. Harry wasn't even aware that patronuses could behave in such a manner. He laughed once more when the beast shook his body in moody obedience and shot off into the castle, passing through the office walls with a swoop of strong wings.

Harry stood and gently bound McGonagall's hands tightly enough to restrain her but not enough to hurt then cast a full body-bind curse to freeze her in position. Once he was sure the woman was unarmed, fully bound, and out of reach of anything remotely useful as a weapon (highball glass included), he pointed his forefinger at the woman and whispered, " _Rennervate_!"

McGonagall awoke with a strong inhale of her nostrils but not much else as the full body bind had her immobilised. Her eyes flickered around the room, as if unsure of her location, and Harry watched with careful consideration. She attempted to speak, to scream, to throw a fit, but the bind kept her incomprehensible mutters muted.

Once McGonagall eventually calmed down, she trained her eyes on Harry in sad, pleading manner. Harry didn't move a muscle, sitting comfortably in the wooden chair facing McGonagall desk and watching her reactions apathetically.

After nearly ten minutes of nothing happening at all, Harry staring at McGonagall and McGonagall staring back, her eyes turned hard as glass. A madness flickered in the woman's blue irises, gleaming cruelly in the candle light.

"And there we are," Harry whispered victoriously, his carefully constructed image of relaxion gone in a flash as he leaned forward to study the person hiding behind McGonagall's eyes.

The door McGonagall's office burst open Dumbledore raced in, followed by a dishevelled Snape.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked perplexedly, clearly not expecting the boy to be the source of the patronus received. Dumbledore's eyes flickered up to McGonagall and he gasped. "What have you done to Minerva?" Dumbledore raised his left hand (the other suspiciously black and reeking of black magic) and unbound McGonagall.

Instantly, McGonagall's head snapped back and her body writhed painfully. She began to scream a horrible, piercing sound. Her mouth gaped open and balls of vapours arose from her mouth, a self-imposed exorcism by the creature possessing McGonagall's body. Dumbledore reared back, eyes wide, as the vapours pulled from McGonagall's shaking frame and evaporated immediately.

McGonagall collapsed into her chair, head lolling back and body shaking in strenuous shock. Snape lurched forward and withdrew a medical bag of potions. He carefully unstoppered multiple vials and poured them down the shivering woman's throat.

Harry looked at Dumbledore calmly, staring into the wrinkled, pale face of his once-mentor.

"I was trying to keep _that_ from getting away," Harry answered Dumbledore's original question simply, his response inspiring a look of bewilderment from Dumbledore.

"What happened, my boy?" Dumbledore asked softly, sitting down on the wood chair next to Harry.

"Nothing, really, sir. McGonagall asked to speak to me, I noticed there was something… Odd. So, I immobilised her, summoned you and Professor Snape, and… That's basically it," Harry answered truthfully if not a little flippantly, lips thinned and eyes downcast to avoid the man's piercing gaze. Though he had become much better at Occlumency over the past three months, he still was not ready to try his defence against Dumbledore's decades of experience.

"You did well, Harry," Dumbledore whispered. "I wish I had trusted your instincts from the beginning," he admitted quietly into the dark room. "I find my own to be lacking and sluggish in these trying times."

Harry chanced a glance up at Dumbledore and smiled softly. "No harm, no foul, sir," he answered respectfully, though perhaps a little too polite and stilted. "May I go to bed now?"

Dumbledore looked over at the recovering Minerva McGonagall, still being treated carefully by Severus' steady hand, and nodded at the almost unrufflable boy-turned-man before him.

"Of course, m'boy," Dumbledore agreed. Harry was out of his seat and halfway through the doorway when Dumbledore spoke next. "Do come see me after dinner Saturday evening, Harry." Harry turned to the slouched elderly wizard and bowed his head in deference to the request. And then he was gone, firmly closing the door between himself and Dumbledore's sad eyes.


	11. Chapter 11: Wizards Are Like Onions

_Harry turned to the slouched elderly wizard and bowed his head in deference to the request. And then he was gone, firmly closing the door between himself and Dumbledore's sad eyes._

* * *

 **Chapter 11: Wizards Are Like Onions**

After Ginny's scene, the entirety of Hogwarts had ceased whispering about Harry and Hermione and they were surprised to note that a few students approached them to apologise in person for their dodgy behaviour. Even Bathsheba slunk up the duo as they studied in the library and whispered a genuine apology, eyes downcast and sad. Hermione had quickly forgiven the girl and had immediately taken to her, bringing the younger girl under her wing and even allowing her to study with them on occasion.

Harry didn't speak of the possession of Professor McGonagall nor his altered patronus to his friends for the remainder of the week. Between NEWT level courses for Hermione and Neville, as well as OWL preparation for Ginny and Luna, it seemed a little cruel to remind them that the war was slowly seeping into Hogwarts. Especially if nothing could be done about it. He did resolve, however, to tell them on the weekend so they could use the couple days off to process the information.

Harry wasn't one for withholding information, especially when it concerned his friends.

Ron and Lavender continued their love affair with little sign of slowing down. Lavender had stopped teasing Hermione and Harry and actually seemed a little put off by Ron's constant bemoaning and, for a lack of a better word, bitching. Though she still followed him around like a lovesick puppy.

On Saturday morning, Harry woke far before the sun rose in the horizon and headed down to the common room to complete the last of his homework. Kreacher, the little monster, had insisted on continuing his etiquette lessons and Harry was loaded with even more homework (the ' _promptsies'_ increasing in difficulty with every passing week). The extracurricular course seemed useless at first but, though Harry would never admit anything to Kreacher for fear of fuelling the elf's fanatic attempts to run Harry's life, he was greatly appreciative for the information he was learning. Everything pureblooded under the sun, including bows, balls and titles, was beginning to make sense to Harry's tired brain.

As he finished the last of his Charms paper, Hermione skipped down the stairs to join him at one minute to six o'clock.

"Morning!" She chirped happily, coming to lean over his shoulder. "Merlin, Harry! You've gotten so much better at this homework stuff," Hermione exclaimed, pulling the paper off the table to read.

"Kreacher's the best when it comes to homework," Harry laughed. "He's raised over six hundred years' worth of Black children to attend Hogwarts, so I guess it makes sense that the elf knows how to teach anyone how to write a damn good paper."

Hermione smiled at him winningly and gestured for them to take off to breakfast.

Hermione and Harry ran into Luna, who smiled dreamily at them from the middle of the hallway wearing nothing but a light sleeping gown, a felt night cap, and wool socks.

"Luna, what are you doing down here?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"The niggletons of Wiltshire invaded my bed and have insisted I stand here for exactly fifty-five minutes," Luna answered seriously.

"Do these niggletons happen to have brown hair curly hair and were kicked out of Dumbledore's Army last year for being a snitch?" Harry pressed, looking at his friend with concern as Hermione's eyes widened with understanding.

"Silly Harry!" Luna laughed. "Niggletons are rarely snitches; for one, they hate the outdoors. But I do suppose this one is the exception to the rule," she frowned thoughtfully.

Hermione sighed. "Next time I see Edgecomb, I'm scarring that girl for real," she muttered angrily under her breath.

Harry hummed his agreement and pointed his wand at Luna's attire. Her gown shimmered as it was transfigured into the mandatory school robes and her socks into a pair of shiny Mary Janes. Her hat disappeared and Luna felt around for the soft fabric on her head.

"Sorry Luna," Harry apologised solemnly. "Had to use the hat for undergarments. You really shouldn't go around in school robes bare, lest you catch a cold."

Hermione blushed and choked loudly while Luna beamed at Harry.

Harry pocketed his wand and then patted his robes in surprise, scowling suddenly. "I forgot my permission slip for Hogsmeade," he announced. "Hermione, be a dear and escort our Cinderella to breakfast?" He asked kindly.

Luna giggled and fell into a deep curtsey before Hermione. She then wove her little arm into the crook of Hermione's elbow and dragged the confused girl down the hallway. "Harry would be the best fairy godmother, don't you agree, Hermione?" The girl asked enthusiastically and Harry grinned as Hermione spluttered, throwing a helpless look over her shoulder at Harry. The pair finally rounded a corner and Luna's chattering faded into silence.

Harry grimaced and took off in the other direction. It took an effort and a half to get away from his friends without acting obvious. They had stuck by his side all week and he was getting restless with the task he needed to complete.

Harry didn't want to tell his friends, especially Ginny, that he needed to check if he could still sneak into the Chamber of Secrets without Voldemort's soul shard still attached to his head. To steal a rotting basilisk's fang.

It felt like a lot to worry them about without even knowing if the portal could be opened anymore. Especially since he had yet to broach the complex, disgusting subject of horcruxes.

Harry weaved his way through the labyrinthine corridors. He was immensely grateful for having the combined knowledge of sneaking around Hogwarts for the past five years as well as the Marauders Map at his disposal. Harry made short work of traipsing his way to the second-floor girl's bathroom, peaking his head down the hallway and breathing a sigh of relief at the deserted corridor. He ran to the entrance, slipped through quickly, and slammed the door shut behind him.

Harry leaned against the wood frame and tried to catch his breath. He slid down and sat on the floor, peaking under the closed stalls to check they were unoccupied. Confirming he could see no feet nor hear Myrtle's recognisable sobs, he finally relaxed.

Harry stood and approached the hidden chamber entrance apprehensively. He hadn't seen the snake decoration in years and carefully ran his fingers over the spouts and taps of the large, intricate sink island. Harry finally found the insignia of Salazar Slytherin and his heart began to beat loudly in his throat. He could almost taste the fear of his twelve-year old self, standing next to the ashen Ron and shaking Lockhart. While this time he wasn't chasing after a missing little girl, followed by his terrified friend and a panicking professor while they blindly dodged a giant death snake (all the while worrying about petrified Hermione laying all alone on that hospital bed), Harry still felt the creepy chill inspired by the Chamber of Secrets.

Just as he opened his mouth and focused on the small snake figure, willing himself to speak Parseltongue, the door to the girl's bathroom slammed open. Harry jumped and whipped around, bracing his hands on the sink behind him in shock and mouth open to defend himself. Harry's words died in his mouth as he looked straight into the storming grey eyes of Draco Malfoy.

A beat of silence washed over the two boys, both looking like children caught with their hand in the cookie jar and gaping at one another in shock. Then Malfoy's handsome face twisted into something dark and ugly.

"What are you doing here?" Malfoy hissed viciously, stepping towards Harry threateningly. "Are you stalking me?"

Harry unconsciously tried to step back and found his back painfully pressed against a high sink edge.

"Me, stalking you?" Harry asked incredulously. "More like are _you_ stalking _me_?"

Malfoy began to laugh, but the sound was far from mirthful and rose the hairs on Harry's arms.

"Clever, Potter," Malfoy mocked, eyes wild. "Trying to turn this around on me? Bravo. You're practically a _Slytherin_ with that display of wit," the boy spat. "If you're not here to stalk me, are you here to rendezvous with your little mudblood slut?" He hissed scathingly, making Harry gape at the venom in Malfoy's tone.

"He's trying to reopen the Chamber," a voice rang out clear from Harry's right. Both boys jumped and turned to the furious ghost of Moaning Myrtle.

"Myrtle," Harry breathed, aghast. "It's not like that –"

"No, Harry, it's _just fine_ ," Myrtle cut him off ruthlessly, sarcastic voice shrilly rising with each word. "Now that you're a pureblood – yes, I hear the rumours too – you're trying to reopen the chamber and release your horrible _pet_ on the rest of us, aren't you?"

"The chamber? Chamber of _Secrets_?" Malfoy joined in, turning to look at Harry with disbelief.

Harry felt himself beginning to panic. He desperately tried to crush the noise ringing in his ears, tried to block out his own mind as it churned a hundred thoughts a second.

"I –" Harry began to explain, wringing his wrists as he looked directly at the ghost.

"You're going to _reopen_ _the_ _fucking Chamber of Secrets_ and _I'm_ the one everyone thinks is a psycho?" Malfoy butt in, face twisting into a snarl and closing in on Harry.

Harry felt his breath stutter, the static tension in the room reaching a peak and he slammed his eyes closed as his magic lashed from his being with the defensiveness of a cornered animal.

Each mirror and window pane vaporised, blowing inwards into the room with surprising silence and harmlessly covering every surface with fine crystal dust.

Malfoy and Myrtle jumped, the later having screamed and moving quickly out of the way of the dust as if forgetting she was a ghost and could not be harmed by the tiny shards.

Harry didn't dare look up, not wanting to see or hear or even process what was going on around him. He kept his eyes carefully closed, head bowed and hands griping the sink with painful intensity. He trembled as he fought to calm his raging emotions, the past few months of suppressing and muffling finally exploding in a deafening cacophony of chaos.

After Harry had reined in the worst of the emotions, he focused his magic outwards and whispered _"Reparo"_ softly, not trusting himself to complete the magic wordlessly as well as wandlessly.

The dust shifted and floated up in spirals, slowly reforming into glass panes in a delicate display of magic and reseating themselves in the panes from which they came. Silence echoed painfully in the room as both Myrtle and Malfoy stared at Harry with a mixture of distrust and awe.

"I need something," Harry rasped out. "Something that will change… The war," he whispered. He knew that Malfoy was a Death Eater but in that instant he couldn't find it in himself to care.

"Open it," Malfoy whispered softly, enticingly. Harry's head snapped up at the closeness of Malfoy's voice and he jolted at the confronting sight of Malfoy chest a hair's breadth away from his nose. Harry looked up into the taller boy's face, helpless to stop, and focused distractedly on lips hovering by his forehead. Malfoy looked down at him, nose brushing with Harry's as he studied the smaller boy's expression.

Harry's breath caught in his throat at the intensity of Malfoy's gaze. The blond pressed against Harry, pushing him harder against the sink island as he placed his hands on either side of Harry's body. Harry felt a jolt of déjà vu, mind flickering back to that moment on the train when Malfoy had trapped him ( _twice_ , Harry's mind betrayed). Every expanse of Harry's body touching Malfoy's fizzled and snapped with electric awareness. Malfoy hovered his mouth over Harry's own parted lips, grey eyes boring into green.

"Open it," Malfoy whispered again, softer than before. His eyes smouldered a stormy grey, swirling and enchanted and dangerous. Malfoy's tongue wet his lips, the action catching the attention of Harry's already haywire mind.

"A-are you," Harry stuttered, mind numbing as his lips gently touched Malfoy's own from his stifling closeness. "Are you trying to _seduce_ me into opening the Chamber of Secrets for you?"

Malfoy quirked a finely groomed pale eyebrow, eyes dancing with sudden mischievousness. "Only if it works," he whispered. Then Malfoy closed the infinitesimal gap and Harry's eyes closed on their own accord.

Kissing Malfoy was something that Harry had never, ever considered prior to boarding the Hogwarts Express for sixth year. Then Malfoy had flipped his entire universe upside-down and Harry found himself pining with a strange desire to hunt the boy down and insist he explain himself – that, or kiss him again _immediately_. Harry's recent dreams had been odd (and embarrassingly sticky), to say the least.

Harry melted against his own will, his nose inhaling the odd mixture of musk and sweetness that encompassed Malfoy, his mouth tasting something indescribable as Malfoy parted his lips with a demanding tongue. Harry's hands braced against Malfoy's chest, then buried into soft robes tightly as Malfoy's grabbed his hips and lifted him effortlessly to sit on the sink edge. Harry's knees parted in brief unbalance and Malfoy took advantage, moving even closer to press into Harry.

Harry was wildly uncomfortable, highly confused, and in complete and utter heaven.

In what could have been only a few seconds or an hour for all Harry knew, Myrtle's choked voice rang out clear. "Merlin," she breathed in awe. "You two are _so hot._ "

Harry yanked back instantly and whacked his head against a steel engravement of the sink, moaning pitifully at the pain and blinking as stars danced in his eyes. Malfoy grabbed the back of Harry's neck with a warm hand, running it up the back of Harry's head to knead the bruised spot and pull gently at soft hair. Harry shivered at the touch and felt his eyes roll back, head falling into the crook of Malfoy's shoulder and neck. Harry realised he was limply pressed against the taller boy, blood rushing through his ears, but too disoriented to push away.

"I think you gave him a concussion, Myrtle," Malfoy's voice came from somewhere, sounding muffled. Harry felt like vomiting and realised the boy was probably right. Harry felt a strange tingling coming from the fingers carding through his hair and the pain abated instantly. His nausea slowly faded away and Harry was horrified to note that he was holding onto Malfoy like a lifeline as the boy healed his trauma.

Harry instantly pushed Malfoy away and toppled off the sink edge at the loss of support, trying to gain his bearings while collapsed on the cold bathroom floor.

Malfoy was looking down at him with a strangely hungry expression, lips bruised and hair ruffled.

"What – what," Harry stuttered ineloquently, shaking with an indescribable emotion. "What?" He asked stupidly, looking up at Malfoy.

"Fuck," Malfoy whispered crudely, crouching down on his haunches study Harry's heated blush and ignoring the boy's flinch. "You didn't shag Granger, did you?"

" _What_?" Harry asked helplessly, mind churning and screaming at him to say anything other than _what_ one more time.

Malfoy ran his hands through messy hair as he stood abruptly. He turned and briskly walked out of the bathroom, the loud bang of the door slamming behind him enough to jolt Harry from his shock.

"Myrtle," Harry croaked, turning to the creepily grinning ghost. "Please… Please don't tell anyone. _Please,_ " he begged desperately.

Myrtle grinned a little wider, if that were possible, and winked disconcertingly.

"Course, not, Harry," Myrtle simpered, then shot off into a bathroom stall and slipped down into the drains with a squeal, leaving an extremely confused and horribly aroused Harry Potter by himself in the second-floor girl's bathroom.


	12. Chapter 12: In For A Penny

_Thank you zucca302, redfox-9, AnetteRuby, xDreyar, & R4m0fTh3F0r3st for your encouraging reviews and words of support :) Really happy that you're enjoying it!_

* * *

 _"Course, not, Harry," Myrtle simpered, then shot off into a bathroom stall and slipped down into the drains, leaving an extremely confused and horribly aroused Harry Potter by himself in the second-floor girl's bathroom._

* * *

 **Chapter 12: In For A Penny, In For A Pound**

Harry caught up with Hermione and Luna in the Great Hall just as the two girls were leaving breakfast. Hermione took one look at Harry's wild expression and dishevelled appearance and grabbed his elbow, dragging him up to the Room of Requirement. Luna followed behind as Hermione peppered the confused boy with questions.

"Not here, Hermione," Harry finally answered. "Call the group – I need to tell you guys something."

Hermione took out the call gallon, charmed to now call only herself, Harry, Neville, Ginny and Luna. Harry's own coin heated up obediently in his pocket and he nodded his thanks. They quickly walked the rest of the way to the meeting room in silence.

At last everyone was once again seated around the firepit in middle of the DA training room. Harry opened his mouth and spoke for an hour straight, forging on shakily as Luna began to silently cry. Even Hermione kept still and quiet as he regaled the tale of horcruxes, the discovery and destruction of one in his cursed scar, the events of his summer that he hadn't divulged on the train ride, and the possession of Professor McGonagall. He carefully avoided all mentions of Malfoy's name, but included the morning encounter (albeit heavily edited) while attempting to sneak into the Chamber. Ginny had long gone ashen, clearly connecting the dots between Voldemort's horcruxes and her childhood possession, and was beginning to look green around the gills.

Finally, Harry shut his mouth wearily, and the room fell into silence.

"Blimey," Neville announced and the tension was broken, Ginny and Luna bursting into tearful laughter.

Even Harry chuckled despite his emotional exhaustion and Hermione cracked a smile.

"Do you think McGonagall's going to be alright? I thought she looked a little ill, but if she's still teaching classes…" Luna trailed off, eyes glittering with slowly abating tears.

"I hope so," Harry answered unsurely. "Snape was there to treat her so she's probably going to be fine. Whatever was in her was definitely insidious, but I think it was… _Watching_ , more than anything. McGonagall seemed mostly in control of herself. It was like it didn't want to be caught or hurt anyone just yet. A spy, probably," Harry elaborated quietly.

The group shuddered at the thought.

"That's something we'll need to be aware of," Hermione began slowly. "I would never have guessed." She shuddered once more as if shaking off the creepiness of it all. "And I would never have even thought about something like… _Horcruxes_. Though it really does clear up a lot of questions."

"This is so fucked up," Ginny added, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms. "Are they all like the first one?"

Neville and Luna looked puzzled by the question and Ginny laughed hollowly. "Oh, right, you guys don't know. I was possessed by a diary horcrux, I can only assume, in first year. Gifted by Lucius Malfoy himself, though I doubt he even knew _what_ the thing was. Opened the Chamber of Secrets to release a giant racist basilisk, petrified a ton of people, and then was dragged down into the Chamber to have my life sucked out like The Kiss to reanimate Voldemort's childhood self. Harry found me, fought Tom Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort, and stabbed a basilisk fang through the diary he controlled me with."

Ginny's flippant candour while telling her horror story clearly disturbed her audience. Luna and Neville stared at Ginny with unfocused, watery eyes.

"I feel like we've missed a lot the last few years," Neville finally answered. "Though I guess we're the lucky ones. No one really knows how much you lot have been through," Neville added sadly. Luna nodded her agreeance.

"To answer your question," Harry said to Ginny. "I don't know. I think that was his first, so it was probably a larger, stronger piece of his soul, if that makes sense. I'm beginning to think that his soul is metaphorically halved every time he creates another horcrux and it's slowly driving him insane. The diary was strong, really strong, but the shard in my head was pretty weak. Well, 'weak' compared to the diary. It was still a vicious fucker. I was able to fight it off during the blood adoption, but Griphook and Kreacher reckon that if it had been even slightly stronger, I would have become an empty suit for the horcrux to walk around in."

Hermione cringed at the description. "So," Hermione stated, eyes glazed as she mulled over the information. "We know that Voldemort _can_ be killed, which is a massive relief, but we need to find a basilisk fang and an unknown number of horcruxes to do so. Or, actually, just the basilisk venom," she summarised.

Harry looked at her questioningly.

"You know, because it's not the fang," Hermione elaborated. "Basilisk venom is possibly the most corrosive substance in existence, known to hurt even ghosts. There's tons of theories about a basilisk's death gaze in regards the poison in their blood and venom."

At her explanation, Harry groaned and put his head in his hands. "Of course," he mumbled. "I've been so focused on the fang part that I didn't even _think_ about the venom. God, I'm so stupid."

Hermione tsked and rolled her eyes. "Harry, you have so much on your plate that I'm amazed that you're still a functioning member of society at this point."

Harry laughed, resting his head on his wingback chair and giving Hermione a self-deprecating smile.

"But it would be a good idea to steal a fang. I can't think of any container that would hold the venom other than the reinforced bone and – _oh, my god!"_ Hermione exclaimed, leaping to her feet.

Everyone jumped at her squeal and watched Hermione pace, her 'Epiphany Face' firmly in place. "The Sword of Gryffindor, Harry!" She finally announced gleefully.

"What?" Harry asked blankly, not sure of her point.

Hermione beamed, perfectly straight teeth glittering in the firelight. "The sword is renowned for absorbing any substance it comes in contact with, making it stronger and stronger with every use. You stabbed the basilisk, undoubtedly exposing the sword to the venom. We could just use the sword to destroy the horcruxes," Hermione stated distractedly, eyes wide with the possibilities. "Besides, Merlin knows what else the sword has been exposed to over the past centuries. If anything could destroy a horcrux, it'll definitely be that!"

Harry gaped up at Hermione with incredulity.

"You are literally a genius, Hermione," Harry breathed, staring at her with admiration. The others hummed their agreement and Hermione blushed, calming down marginally and returning to her seat with a smile on her face.

"Well, the problem lies in finding the sword," Ginny muttered, lips pursing in thought.

"I have a meeting with Dumbledore tonight," Harry answered pensively. "I could look for it then."

Hermione nodded and they leaned back in their chairs, mulling over the day's discussion.

"So, who is this mystery boy of yours and why have we yet to meet him?" Ginny asked in an abrupt change of conversation.

Harry shuddered and shook his head at Ginny. "You don't want to know," he answered bluntly. She rolled her eyes and he reiterated a little more forcefully, "Seriously, you _really_ don't want to know."

"Oh, come off it Harry," Ginny griped. "You've basically told us every single intimate detail of your life, from life-altering prophecies to parasitic soul warts, but you won't tell us who your massive crush is?"

Harry shrunk into his chair and Hermione scowled darkly at the redhead. "Just because he tells us everything doesn't mean he has to!" Hermione defended him harshly. "I think it's good for Harry to keep a few things to himself!"

Ginny scoffed. "That's because _you_ know who it is. And if you didn't, you'd be harping Harry into spilling."

"It was on his terms and of his own volition. Don't be a bully, Ginny," Hermione snarked back.

Ginny leapt to her feet and approached Hermione threateningly. "Just because your precious _Ronny_ is out there getting some doesn't mean you have to be a total bitch all the time, Hermione," Ginny said scathingly, making everything flinch back at her words.

Hermione looked at Ginny with soul-crushing despair and instantly both girls burst into tears. Ginny immediately apologised and ran into Hermione's arms, begging for her forgiveness. Luna spontaneously burst into tears as well and jumped into the group hug, leaving both boys staring at one another helplessly.

"Oh, my god, Hermione," Ginny cried. "I'm so sorry. Dean broke up with me last night and I've just been on edge for hours," she wailed.

"I'm sorry too," Hermine sobbed. "I just get so tired of everyone hurting Harry and I get too defensive and with Ron being Ron I just…" Her words were lost into a flurry of hiccups.

"I just really want a hug," Luna added through tears and the other girls wailed louder, pulling her in closer to coddle.

Harry and Neville stood awkwardly and backed their way out of the room.

"We'll catch up with you in Hogsmeade," Harry called out as they were nearly out of the door. The girls flapped their hands in dismissal and Harry quickly closed the door.

"What was that?" Neville asked fearfully, seemingly more haunted by that display of emotions than the prospect of an indestructible Dark Lord roaming the earth.

Harry shrugged and threw up his hands helplessly, mumbling incoherently about ' _girls'_ , and the boys quickly took off to enjoy what little time was left of the Hogsmeade trip.

* * *

Katy Bell cornered Harry in _The Three Broomsticks_ , the girl drunk off the flowing chocolate and freedom brought about by a day off in Hogsmeade.

"Harry!" Katy giggled, sidling up next to him in an empty booth. "When are we going to have Quidditch tryouts? It's almost been _two weeks_ since school started and Ravenclaw's the last house to hold their tryouts tomorrow! We're going to be so far behind," the girl gushed, cheeks flush.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked incredulously. "I've been waiting to hear from the new captain, too. I've no idea."

Katy stared at Harry. "Don't you know?" The girl gasped agitatedly. At Harry's confused expression, she slapped a hand on her forehead. "Harry," Katy stated seriously. "You're the captain."

"Me?" Harry asked in surprise. "Oh."

"Didn't you get a letter and badge over the summer?" Katy enquired suspiciously.

Harry rolled his eyes. "My cousin has picked up a habit of going through my mail. He probably kept the badge…" He muttered.

"Harry, that badge is, like, an _eight-hundred-year-old_ artefact. You have to get that back!" Katy whispered, looking around conspiratorially in case any professors were standing nearby. "You'll get in so much trouble!"

Harry smiled at Katy. "Katy, I don't even have a broom – that's a little more concerning to me than a missing badge. Besides, I'll just owl my cousin. I'm sure if I call him out, he'll give it back. Though it is kind of funny to think a muggle boy stole an eight-hundred-year-old Quidditch captain badge from Hogwarts because he thought it was shiny," he added slyly.

"Oh Merlin," Katy groaned, burying her head in her arms in dismay.

"Besides," Harry continued. "I have so much going on right now that being captain is way out of the question." At Katy's betrayed expression, Harry quickly elaborated. "I definitely still want to play, it's just that I wouldn't be doing the team any justice if I couldn't make every practice or help with the newbies, let alone fight against the other captains for a fair practice schedule."

Katy frowned thoughtfully. "I guess you'll give it to Ron, then, huh?" She asked glumly, expression downcast.

Harry laughed at the depressed girl. "Katy, Ron is quite literally the last person you'd want in charge. Don't get me wrong, but I think he's a little… Distracted this term."

They both turned to look at Ron, who was deeply hidden in an alcove and snogging Lavender Brown senseless with the same voraciousness he usually reserved for breakfast foods. The boy would occasionally open one eye to watch Madam Rosmerta walk by, but then he would dive back in and become lost in Lavender's amorous attentions.

Katy turned back to Harry with a grimace. "Yeah, okay, _ew_. So, who's it going to? Ginny?" She pressed.

Harry stepped down from the booth and got down on one knee. He wandlessly transfigured a sickle into a gleaming badge, complete with the insignia of Gryffindor, a broomstick and a quaffle carved over its shimmering surface. As he held it up to her, the entirety of _The Three Broomsticks_ shuddered to a halt, watching the activities with awe.

"Katy Bell, will you do me the honour of becoming the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain?" Harry asked sweetly, smiling as her eyes filled up with tears.

"Oh, I will, Harry, I will!" Katy wailed and the entire pub cheered loudly. She took the badge and pinned it on her robes and the previous year's quidditch team raced forward to swarm the overwhelmed girl.

Harry laughed and shook his head. He slunk into the background of the chaos, ignoring the calls of butterbeer for everyone and watched silently. Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and Harry turned to see Malfoy sneaking into the back rooms of the pub.

Harry looked around to make sure no one was paying him any mind and pulled out his invisibility cloak, wrapping it around his shoulders and following the boy quickly.

Malfoy had slipped into a darkened meeting room and Harry snuck in behind him just in time to avoid getting hit by the door. It was kept slightly ajar and Harry watched with bated breath as Malfoy waited. He noticed that the boy was looking greyer and sicker than during their encounter that morning, hands shaking as he held a wrapped box.

Finally, Katy burst into the room, giggling and waving her hand at her face as she fought to cool her pink cheeks. Katy looked at the boy in surprise, clearly intending to meet someone in the room but not expecting the Heir Malfoy. Just as she opened her mouth, Malfoy raised his wand and shakily whispered, " _I-Imperius!"_

Harry recognised immediately that it was a rather poor Imperius. The boy clearly didn't want to do it but something fuelled him onwards. Katy stared at him blankly and Malfoy frowned deeply in concentration as he attempted to get the girl to obey his mental demands.

Malfoy held out the box to Katy and she hesitantly reached out to collect it. Harry finally had enough and whipped off his cloak, stuffing it into his bag. His stomach churned when Katy didn't notice him even though she faced him directly. Harry leapt up to Malfoy and grabbed his left forearm forcefully, breaking the blond's concentration and releasing Katy from the spell.

Katy gasped loudly and collapsed to the floor, looking up at the boys in terror. Malfoy whipped around to hit his attacker, but Harry deftly dodged the punch. Just as Malfoy wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, intent to throw him off balance, Harry pointed his hand at Katy.

" _Obliviate!"_ Harry whispered fiercely, watching the terror wipe from her expression as the five-pointed spell wrapped around her face and faded. Malfoy stopped moving immediately, hands still splayed on Harry's stomach. She blinked her eyes a couple times as both boys stood in frozen anticipation.

"Harry!" Katy chirped, bouncing to her feet. "Malfoy?" She asked suddenly, looking confused by the tense situation.

"Sorry Katy, we're just having a bit of a… Disagreement," Harry answered shortly. "You came into here just a moment ago and collapsed. Are you alright?" He asked in concern, eyebrows drawn together.

"Oh, yeah," Katy assured him kindly. "I think it's just a bit hot out there and… Never mind. Are _you_ alright?" She asked, concerned eyes turning to the tight grip Malfoy had on the smaller boy. The two had yet to move and Harry felt Malfoy's arms wrap even tighter around his waist at the question.

"Yes, I'm okay," Harry sighed bitterly. "Go back, Katy. Enjoy your party," Harry added cheekily, winking at the girl.

Katy nodded hesitantly but then she bounced out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

Harry immediately twisted in Malfoy's arms defensively, but the boy didn't react in any way after Katy's departure. He stood stone still, watching Harry with emotionless eyes. His arms were the only sign that he was still present in the situation, hands running down Harry's back and settling directly on his arse.

Harry blushed, but stared steadfast into the taller boy's eyes.

"What are you up to, Malfoy?" Harry asked quietly, searching the other boy's defeated gaze. Harry raised his hands to Malfoy's face and his left was caught unexpectedly by one of Malfoy's own. Despite the fact the Malfoy now only had one hand on… _that_ , Harry thought blushingly, he carefully remained in place to not scare Malfoy off. The blond looked at Harry's palm blankly, the pad of his thumb softly stroking the inverted words carved into his flesh. Malfoy turned the hand over and Harry saw a spark of anger glitter in the other's eyes.

" _I must not tell lies_ ," Malfoy read in a hushed voice, mouth twisting as he spoke. The blond looked down at Harry, eyebrows drawn and expression serious. Without breaking the smaller boy's gaze, he curled his fingers under Harry's to bring the hand to his lips and kiss the words softly.

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat at the gesture, the tips of his cheeks heating up in what he was sure was a flaring blush. Malfoy kept their gaze locked at he turned the hand over and placed another soft kiss on the palm of Harry's hand.

Malfoy shifted to rest his tall frame against the back of a sofa behind him, pulling Harry towards him. Harry followed slowly, allowing himself to be positioned to stand between the blond's slightly parted legs and realised that, at this angle, he could look directly into Malfoy's eyes. For the first time, Harry felt in control of the situation. He realised he could leave at any time – his wandless magic now developed enough to stun Malfoy in a heartbeat – but something kept him firmly in place. He stared at Malfoy intensely, unsure of how to act without breaking their temporary truce.

Harry leaned in slowly, carefully. He touched the pads of his fingers against Malfoy's chest experimentally, watching the blond's expression for any sign of danger. Upon seeing no reaction, Harry flattened his hands against the robed chest and ran them down the muscled expanse. Harry lowered his gaze, blushing darkly at the sudden intimacy of the action.

"You really are a blushing virgin, aren't you?" Malfoy whispered, voice deep and rough, causing Harry to jump in response to the sudden noise.

Harry looked up in irritation, ready to give Malfoy a piece of his mind, but was stopped short when Malfoy's lips met his. Unlike their previous kisses, this one was softer, sweeter. Malfoy allowed him to control the pace, allowed him to wrap fluttering hands around his neck and step closer. Harry felt the gentle nips on his bottom lip like sparks of electricity, his eyes closing and head tilting to savour the taste on Malfoy's mouth. Malfoy's hands hung low on Harry's hips, present but not dominant.

The door behind Harry rattled as someone turned the door knob. Without breaking the kiss nor opening his eyes, Harry flicked his hand and the opening of the door was stopped, the door slammed shut and the entrance warded against intrusion. Harry returned his attention to Malfoy's soft skin and the smooth, supple movement on his lips, sighing happily against Malfoy's mouth.

A deep chuckle sounded against his chest and Harry pulled back slowly, peering through thick eyelashes at an amused Malfoy.

"Are you going to open it for me, now?" Malfoy whispered and Harry's brows pulled together in confusion. "The Chamber, snake boy," Malfoy clarified teasingly, reaching forward to nip and pull on Harry's bottom lip with his teeth.

Harry sighed and looked up to the ceiling, begging the heavens for patience and strength. Malfoy moved onto his neck without missing a beat, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses against the soft flesh of his throat. Harry's eyes fluttered shut, but he focused on retaining self-control.

"Malfoy," Harry began, exasperated.

"Draco," Malfoy cut in, hands unbuttoning Harry's robes with deftness.

"What?" Harry asked, lowering his head to stare into Malfoy's hooded eyes.

"Call me Draco," Malfoy – no, Draco repeated. Harry looked at Mal – _Draco_ , gauging the boy's expression.

Harry placed his fingertips on the wings of Draco's cheekbones, touching the soft, unblemished skin. Draco was looking less like a corpse, like he had when Harry snuck into the room, and more like his memory of the boy. Draco's clammy skin had warmed under his touch, the confident glint in his eyes reignited, his posture relaxed and calm. Harry ran the pad of his thumb over Draco's bottom lip, watching the soft, pale pink skin depress slightly under his touch. Draco's eyes closed at the ministrations, blond eyelashes dusting the top of his cheeks.

"Draco," Harry whispered at last, tasting the name.

It was like the spillway of a dam had broken and the flood of movement in the aftermath swept Harry away. Draco grabbed Harry's waist and pulled them both over the edge of the large sofa, twisting and landing on top of the smaller boy. Harry let out a painful _oomph_ as his breath was knocked out of him and gaped as Malfoy pinned him to the large sofa seats.

Draco smirked as Harry reclaimed his breath and unwound his arms from where they had wrapped around the blond's neck in support.

"Again," Draco demanded, staring Harry down with hard eyes as he lifted himself up by his forearms.

"Come off it, _Draco_ ," Harry answered, a sly smile quirking the edges of his lips.

Draco smirked victoriously and swooped down to steal another kiss. Harry opened his mouth compliantly at the demanding lips and his eyes crossed behind closed lids at the ferocity of Draco's attack. Draco's tongue ran over the roof of Harry's mouth and he shuddered in response, griping Draco's hair and helplessly releasing a needy whine.

Warm hands slipped under Harry's shirt ( _When did Draco even open my robe?_ Harry wondered distractedly) and ran the expanse of his chest. Harry's nipples were pinched and rolled suddenly, causing the brunette to cry out in pain and arousal, arching into Draco's hard frame. The kiss immediately took a different tone, Draco running one hand down and slipping under the back of Harry's pants and the other grabbing a fistful of Harry's hair. Draco cupped his hand over Harry's arse, pulling him up only to grind back down again, pushing down with a hard, heavy heat and manhandling Harry with alarming ease.

Harry's ears filled with loud drums, as it had on the train, and he felt his heartbeat take the staccato of the war tempo. He wrapped his hands around Draco's shoulders, using the leverage to arch and push himself into Draco wantonly and fighting for dominance in the burning kiss. Harry had completely lost himself and, for the first time, he wasn't worried about coming back.

"Harry! Are you in there?" A shriek pierced their haze from general direction of the door, causing Draco to groan bitterly and collapse on Harry's thrumming frame.

"Your friends suck," Draco mumbled, his face buried in Harry's neck and nuzzling softly. Draco didn't stop rubbing his hands along the length of Harry's body, despite the presence just outside the door. Harry huffed out a laugh at Draco's cat-like movements and he wove his hands into the blond locks, nails massaging the scalp. Draco practically purred, leaning into the soothing touch.

"Yes, Hermione," Harry called back. "Be there in a sec!"

Draco tensed, stopping cold at his response, and didn't so much as move a muscle. Harry squirmed against the boy's dead weight.

"Draco, seriously. They'll break down the door if I don't answer it," Harry whispered. He let out a surprised cry at the feeling of teeth sinking into the side of his shoulder and neck, arching in pain as Draco held him down and sucked viciously. Harry fluttered his hands over the taller, elder boy's shoulders and keened loudly, trying to pull the mouth off his neck and bucking harshly.

Draco ignored the attempts to dismount him and grabbed Harry hands to pin them over his head with one hand. The other hand quickly grabbed a tuff of Harry's hair and yanked his head further to the side. Harry felt himself submit instinctively, tense muscles relaxing and legs winding around Draco's compliantly. The blond hummed a darkly pleased moan and released his cruel jaws, tongue lapping at the bite soothingly.

Draco was off Harry in an instant once Hermione started banging on the door, pulling the dazed raven up with the hold on his wrists and walking him around the sofa. Draco released Harry slowly, pushing him gently towards the door.

"Call off your hounds," Draco murmured, hooded eyes amused and glittering wickedly in the candlelight as he rested against the back of the sofa once more, crossing his ankles loosely.

Harry tottered to the door unsteadily and tried to calm down, taken aback by how quickly Draco had composed himself. That last bite had thrown Harry's confidence, making him relaxed, bone tired and yet agitated. His instincts screamed at him to return to Draco, to nuzzle back up to him and kiss those bruised lips and ask very, _very_ politely for another bite. He wasn't sure what the _hell_ was going on with his frayed mind and the tingles running down his body like electricity from the bite raised the hairs on his arms.

Harry unwarded the door and slowly cracked it open. Hermione stood worriedly on the other side, flanked by a concerned Katy and fretting Ginny. Hermione and Katy gasped at Harry's dishevelled appearance, moving to step forward but stopped by Harry's shake of the head. Ginny, on the other hand, grinned widely and leered at the petite boy.

"Who've you got holed up in there with you?" Ginny whistled, wagging her eyebrows suggestively at his appearance. Harry glared at her, pursing his lips bitterly.

Just as he opened his mouth to tell her exactly what he thought of her nosiness, he felt a warm presence pressed against his back. A large hand wound around his abdomen and splayed possessively on Harry's lower stomach, making him blush beetroot red at the insinuation.

"Well, hello, Weaselette," Draco murmured from over Harry's shoulder. Harry cringed and closed his eyes, not willing to see the expression on the ginger's face. "Bell, Granger," Draco greeted, his voice deep and gravelly. Harry appreciated the feeling of the words vibrate into his chest and subconsciously leaned back into the warm frame.

Harry looked up through his eyelashes warily to gauge his friends' reactions.

Hermione had turned an alarming shade of grey and Katy looked like she wanted to faint. On the other hand, Ginny surprised Harry with her lecherous leer of approval.

"You _dog,_ " Ginny whispered reverently to Malfoy, eyes alight with wonder. "You absolute _dog_."

Draco hummed his amused reply and Harry looked up to see the blond smirking at the trio of girls, expression the epitome of _cat-who-caught-the-canary._ Draco looked down at Harry as the girls gasped, his grey eyes flickering to the raven's neck. Harry blushed even harder as he recalled the love bite, hand flying up to cover the mark and ducking his head.

Draco slipped a finger under Harry's chin and lifted the blushing face back to his. He pressed an innocently tender kiss to Harry's lips, who froze at the tender display in front of his friends. Draco then opened the door, having sneakily manoeuvred Harry out of the way during their _very_ public display of affection, and strode past the shocked boy and his blushing friends.

Draco disappeared into the dark pub, not glancing back once, leaving Katy, Ginny and Hermione to turn on an extremely flustered Harry Potter-Black.


	13. Chapter 13: No One Likes Magic Tricks

_Thanks again to everyone for the lovely reviews, favourites and follows! And a shout out to all those silent creepers out there reading the story ;) This is a fairly short chapter but I've already written a fair ways ahead, so this will be followed up soon._

* * *

 _Draco disappeared into the dark pub, not glancing back once, leaving Katy, Ginny and Hermione to turn on an extremely flustered Harry Potter-Black._

* * *

 **Chapter 13: No One Likes Magic Tricks**

"I just can't get over it," Ginny repeated, looking far into the distance with a dreamy look on her face. "It's so… Ugh, I just can't," she sighed.

Hermione seemed horrified by the entire situation and pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes as she rested her elbows on the table. Katy's mouth was pressed into a thin line and the girl had yet to speak.

Harry had let the girls into the room shortly after Draco's departure, sitting on the sofa he had occupied not minutes ago with the commanding blond. At first, he tried to ignore their demands to explain himself. But after noticing chillingly that the package Draco had tried to force Katy into accepting was now nowhere to be found, he quietly answered their questions with either a _yes, no,_ or _I don't know_. Harry's skin had cooled with horror at the realisation and his mind shuddered in comprehension.

He realised that _Draco_ had very easily distracted Harry, escaped punishment for trying to Imperius Katy, taken advantage of the fact Harry had oblivated the girl in some bizarre attempt to 'protect' Malfoy, and made off with the clearly cursed gift parcel.

Harry wanted to curl in upon himself and disappear. Dra – _Malfoy,_ Harry reminded himself coldly, knew perfectly well that Harry could outduel him with both hands tied behind his back. It was clear that Malfoy had seduced the living hell out of the him, exposed their affair to his friends to distract him, and slunk away with literally no consequences. All within fifteen minutes.

 _Fucking slimy Slytherin,_ Harry thought savagely. But it was to be expected from the blond; Harry was more furious at himself for believing the diversion.

"Harry, do you even know what that bite is?" Ginny asked suddenly.

Harry looked up in surprise. "What do you mean?" He hedged carefully, not sure what she meant.

"A hickey?" Katy asked sarcastically. "Though one hell of a hickey – it's massive," she added, frowning.

Ginny's mouth dropped open. "None of you know, do you?" She breathed in shock, clearly pleased to be the only one 'in the know'.

Hermione frowned as she looked up at the redhead irritably. "Don't beat around the bush, Ginny," the girl demanded, nerves clearly over extended and not up to playing Ginny's games.

Ginny rolled her eyes but acquiesced. "It's a Claiming," she stated in an exasperated tone.

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth and she shook her head in denial. Harry looked at Katy, confused by the term.

"Claiming?" Katy asked, face scrunching at the word and pinching her lips, unimpressed. "I doubt it," she said sceptically.

"Ginny's right," Hermione whispered and stared at the other girls meaningfully. Harry looked around at all three girls, shifting uncomfortably and wringing his wrists at the cryptic conversation the girls were having. They all turned to face him and frowned at his nervous tics and confused expression.

"So… Who wants to tackle this?" Katy asked the other girls. Hermione looked out of her depth and Ginny sighed, nodding her head.

Ginny turned to Harry and crossed her legs, face bunched in thought. "Harry," she began slowly. "What do you know of wizarding traditions regarding, uh, blended species?" Ginny asked uncomfortably.

Harry looked at her incredulously. "What?" He asked, aghast.

"It was very popular about a century ago, and a few centuries before then, for wizards to _breed_ , I guess you could say, with magical creatures," Hermione explained quietly.

"Wha-What the hell?" Harry stuttered in incredulity.

"Not with, like, _pixies,"_ Ginny unhelpfully cut in. "Like, veela and vampires and high elves," she explained, as if that made it better.

"It was pretty common amongst purebloods, who didn't want to marry more cousins but couldn't _lower_ themselves to mixing their blood with _mudbloods_ ," Hermione muttered darkly, her opinion on the matter clear.

"Especially common in the Black family," Katy added her two cents. Harry looked at her with widened eyes and she smiled at the boy in pity. "Harry, it's kind of super obvious what happened over the summer. I just don't get why you'd accept adoption from _Sirius Black_ ," she stated bitterly.

Harry recalled that Katy didn't know the truth regarding his godfather and sighed, deciding that conversation should be held at a different time.

"So you're saying that I'm a… _Magical_ _creature_?" Harry asked, trying to clarify what the girls were telling him.

"Well, no, not exactly," Hermione answered pensively, lips pursing in thought. "More like, you've inherited some attributes of whatever you're descended from. To put it into muggle terms, if your grandmother was blond, you probably wouldn't _be_ blond if her husband or your parents weren't, but you'd carry the gene recessively. Your children or descendants could inherit that gene and it could show back up down the line. Your genes were probably activated from the blood adoption and it makes sense that the blood adoption wouldn't work after sixteen seeing as that age is the hallmark for most inheritances." Hermione stared off into the distance as she thought. "Honestly, I'd say high elf, judging by the Black family's immediately identifiable grey eyes and dark features."

Harry gaped at his best friend. " _High elf?"_

"Don't freak out, Harry," Ginny butt in as she rolled her eyes. "High elf is actually one of the most innocuous of the inheritances. They're basically wizards with pointy ears. I'm fairly sure my family blood has incubus or something of the sort in it," she muttered darkly, laughing at Harry's distressed expression. "Just look how many damn siblings I have," she sighed on side note, waving her hand dismissively.

"You're just more likely to inherit some basic elfish instincts and some pretty kick ass wandless magic," Ginny continued. "The Potter line probably was descended from elves as well, seeing how legendary the Potter line is for developing alchemy and wandless techniques," Ginny said as she frowned thoughtfully. "Potter blood mixing with the Black adoption probably brought out the more obvious elven genes, explaining the drastic change in your appearance. It would make sense too since I've noticed that you can do most of the third-year and below coursework wandless _and_ wordless, which is extraordinary in of itself."

Harry turned on Hermione, pursing his lips in confusion. "How do you know about this?" He asked suspiciously, still half hoping that this was some elaborate prank.

Hermione scoffed. "After your announcement about blood adoptions, I've been doing a bit of research on obscure pureblood inheritances. I didn't even think about mentioning it until now, honestly."

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead tiredly. "So what does this have to do with Malfoy?" He asked with apprehension.

"Harry, you are so stubborn sometimes," Hermione exclaimed, looking exasperated that he hadn't already connected the dots. "Just listen. It's obvious Malfoy inherited Veela genes, if his family's lighter complexion and attitude is anything to go by. That and they're descended from the French, which is infamously _riddled_ with Veela breeding. From what I've read, Veela inheritances are pretty intense. Like, _aggressive_. It's probably why Malfoy has been freaking out this term. And if he's also on the 'prowl'…. I think he's trying to… Well… _Mate_ you."

A burst of pleased purring erupted in the back of his mind at the words, taking Harry by surprise. Harry blushed so darkly that he worried he would pass out. "The… Oh, fuck. _Claiming_ ," he repeated the term with dawning horror.

"Yeah," Katy added sympathetically, placing a warm hand over Harry's knee. "By Draco 'Ferret-Face' Malfoy."

Harry buried his face in his hands and decided immediately that he _hated_ sixth year.

* * *

Harry received a missive immediately upon returning to the castle that his meeting with Dumbledore was postponed. Once the group had returned to school, they discovered that a student had been cursed.

According to the portraits, Lavender Brown had been carrying a wrapped gift through the halls, making it halfway through the castle before seemingly 'awakening' and becoming confused. She opened the gift, for some reason believing it was for her, and touched the darkly cursed necklace within. It was only due to the interception by Nearly Headless Nick, who rushed to find Professor McGonagall, that she was saved from a horrible death. But the poor girl was deemed too unwell to leave St Mungo's for the foreseeable future and the students were deeply rattled by the attack.

Harry sat in a familiar four-poster bed in the Room of Requirement summoned into Sirius' old room. He tucked his knees against his chest and buried his head on his crossed arms. The realisation that Malfoy had cursed Lavender was a punch to the gut. He should have taken the parcel, disposed of it. He could feel the dark magic emanating from the package the moment he walked in the room. But Harry had been too… _Distracted._

He was nauseated with his failure to have _done_ something; to have prevented Lavender's torture by calling Malfoy out and stopping him from pursing whatever Voldemort demanded him to do.

The worst part was that Harry didn't know if Malfoy wanted to do it. Harry naively thought Malfoy would abandon the attempt to hand off the parcel once caught in _The Three Broomstick._ Though it was now clear that the desired outcome wasn't to curse Lavender nor Katy as both were used as messengers. But to whom, Harry didn't know.

Perhaps the boy was stressed from wanting to do a good job for Voldemort, rather than the stress of not wanting the mission at all. It curled Harry's hair to think that he had been _Claimed_ by someone he wasn't sure wanted him dead or not.

Kreacher had hunted Harry down an hour before, feeding the distressed boy Kreacher's favourite study and now acclaimed comfort foods and not caring an inch if Harry felt the same way. Harry had been showered with strawberries, almonds and peppermint tea and though Harry didn't feel like eating ever again, he had smiled at the elf's efforts.

Kreacher was finally bullied by Dobby into returning to the kitchens for supper and though Kreacher scowled and insulted Dobby filthily, Harry could see the elf was pleased to have someone to interact with. He waved the old elf off, thanking him for his efforts and letting the little creature disappear with a crack.

Once alone, Harry wallowed in despair. The wound on his neck ached and burned furiously but the pain was easily pushed far into the back of his mind. Harry had become so accustomed to physical pain it was simple to ignore once compartmentalised, his senses long dulled from a decade of Harry Hunting, his uncle's too strong pushes, basilisk bites, countless broken bones, attempted possessions at Voldemort's hands, dragon flame, Dementor attacks and cursed writing objects carving his flesh – and that wasn't even the half of it.

Harry collapsed back into the bed, rolling in plush duvets identical to Sirius' but lacking in scent, and spent the restlessly tossing, wishing he could hide in the soft sheets forever.


	14. Chapter 14: Horses for Courses

This is the last chapter before things really speed up on the Drarry side (I promise). My inspiration for the Room of Hidden Things is from Howl's Moving Castle - I adore Howl's bedroom. Let me know what you think :)

* * *

 _Harry collapsed back into the bed, rolling in plush duvets identical to Sirius' but lacking in scent, and spent the night restlessly turning and wishing he could hide forever._

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Horses for Courses**

The following week was hell. Snape, who now taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, was particularly vengeful and spiteful, clearly making up for nearly a decade of being denied the post. Slughorn hounded Harry every moment they bumped into one another in the hall or within the confines of his classroom, abusing the fact that Harry _had_ to be there and chattering incessantly in his ear. Ron had decided to slink around the castle, tearfully regaling tales of Lavender to anyone who could listen. Harry spent a large portion of the time avoiding the redhead (which was an insanely difficult task now that Ron spent most of his spare time in the Gryffindor commons or in the shared bedroom), knowing that a 'heartfelt' apology lay on the horizon.

And Harry resolutely avoided any contact, eye or physical, with Malfoy like the plague.

Harry spent the majority of his time with Hermione and the slowly improving Bathsheba in the library, hidden away in the vast bookshelves and studying as if his life depended on it. And, in a way, it really did. Kreacher's enforced studying over the summer improved his techniques and his occlumency meditations allowed him to focus with singularity on the topics. It didn't help either that Kreacher would sneak into the library and wave a wooden spoon in silent threat at Harry when he would lean back and relax in the hard library chairs, making the boy roll his eyes and return to his studies.

Hermione, who never caught sight of Harry's slave driver house elf, was thrilled by his newfound study ethic.

At the beginning of the term, Hermione had found a couple hours each night to begin tutoring Harry in ancient runes. He was positive that if he had taken the class, it would have resulted in a much-deserved _Troll_ OWL. But without Ron around to encourage his slacker side with games of wizarding chess and endless quidditch teams to discuss, Harry found himself slowly grasping the complex subject. Hermione turned out to be an excellent tutor, patiently wading through centuries of intricate theories and symbols. Harry realised how little he knew compared to Hermione, who described each rune by memory, and he admired the passion in her eyes once he began to understand and ask intelligent questions two weeks into their lessons.

Harry replaced all thought of the upcoming war and his role in it with endless hours of mind-numbing classwork. He realised with a laugh that he was becoming nearly as obsessed as Hermione.

Harry, to his unending embarrassment, was also totally and utterly obsessed with the whereabouts and whatnots of Draco Malfoy.

On Sunday evening, Harry snuck under his invisibility cloak to the entrance of the Slytherin common room just past curfew and had settled against the wall, knowing the boy was up to something. Especially since Malfoy's cursed gift (which Harry had yet to tell his friends about) had failed so spectacularly. He was rewarded at two minutes to eleven, about to give up and return to his commons, when the boy snuck through the portal. Harry followed Malfoy up to the Room of Requirement and watched with narrow eyes as the sickly-looking boy paced by the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Once the Room provided a door on the opposite side of the tapestry, Malfoy checked the coast was clear and scurried into the room, slamming shut the ornate, unfamiliar door behind him.

Harry desperately wanted to see what Malfoy was up to but wasn't exactly keen on getting caught sneaking around. Definitely not in his invisibility cloak. And especially not by Malfoy, seeing as Harry had naught a cent of self-control around the boy.

While Harry resented the fact, he was well aware of his weaknesses and he wasn't about to go around and let others exploit them.

On Wednesday, the fourth night of Harry's late-night stalking, Harry watched Malfoy slip out of the Room of Requirement and sneak down the seventh-floor corridor at six minutes to midnight. Harry had accompanied him back each night, sometimes well past one in the morning, but he realised Malfoy only ever returned to the Slytherin commons and stayed there for the rest of the night.

Harry waited patiently for twenty minutes, making sure that the boy wasn't going to return, and he pulled off the invisibility cloak. He had noticed that while wearing the cloak was that his magical aura was muffled. It was a mark of a real invisibility cloak and while it had its benefits (number one being that Snape couldn't locate him on his nightly prowls), it also had its drawbacks. The biggest one being that he couldn't summon the door to the Come and Go Room while under the cloak.

Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. _Show me the room Draco Malfoy calls each night,_ he thought, pacing back and forth. He wasn't sure if the request was clear enough or if the room could do such a thing. After three passes of the wall, Harry opened his eyes and scowled at the stone wall, no door summoned to his request.

Harry closed his eyes and returned to pacing. _I need to see the room Draco Malfoy needs,_ he thought. _I need to see the room he has asked for the last four nights. To protect Hogwart's students._

Harry opened his eyes and laughed in disbelief at the now familiar ornate door, amazed that it had worked. Harry sent silent thanks to the room and he reached out carefully to turn the handle, encouraged when the door opened with ease. Harry walked into the room, eyes adjusting to the darkness, and gasped.

The room was filled to the brim with stuff. That was all Harry could call it. Just… _Stuff_. Trinkets, broken clocks, worn tapestries, strewn vials of potions, spinning tops, gleaming goblets, intricate ivory seeing-eyes that blinked at Harry disturbingly, antique hat pins, feathers, dolls, towels, and massive piles of chairs and desks, some toppled dangerously. To name a few.

Harry weaved through the informal 'aisles' of the massive room which expanded nearly further than the eye could see. Somehow, the tops of the room's walls featured arching cathedral windows that let in a little bit of moonlight through their dusty panes. He laughed softly, once again star-struck by the incredible ability of magic.

"What do you call yourself?" Harry asked out into the dark room. No answer was given, unsurprisingly, but Harry smiled none the less.

Harry continued through the room, eyes barely taking in the sheer amount of junk as the passed the tangled heaps, and realised he would never find out what Malfoy was doing in here each night on his own. There was just no way Harry could wade through everything; he'd long be dead before everything in the room could be individually assessed and discarded by one person.

Harry looked at a few Fanged Frisbees and a pile of what appeared to be broken Zonkos prank jokes. The room was clearly a hiding place, burial ground, and junk yard for Hogwart's generations of occupants. How Malfoy had come across this room, what Malfoy _needed_ in this room was beyond a mystery. He wondered what the blond prat was up to, spinning on his heel and taking in a three-sixty-degree view from deep within the room.

Harry amused himself by walking the rows of the room, knowing that he would need to camp out in here before Malfoy snuck out each night to figure out what he was up to. Tonight, though, he decided to wander around for his own pleasure. He smiled at a little family of mice who scurried across the floor before him before blanching at a cage holding an unidentifiable, five-legged skeleton. Shuddering, Harry continued past it quickly and caught whiff of a stench.

It wasn't a smell, per say, but Harry could feel the foul aura as if it were one, the darkness stinging his nose and watering his eyes.

Harry turned his head rapidly, looking for the source of the ill will. His eyes finally landed on a dusty tiara, a beautiful crown of jewels and expert craftmanship but clearly cursed to hell and high water. Harry approached the object warily, shuddering as the slimy feeling of dark magic grew stronger as he walked near.

Harry realised with shocked amazement that it was a horcrux. Harry wasn't sure if it belonged to Voldemort, but he could feel the jagged split of the soul thrashing and panicking and trying to lure Harry into the placing the tiara on his head. But unlike the diary, this horcrux was weak and almost inanimate – perhaps from decades of solitude and loneliness. It was only through Harry's near religious practice of sensing magic externally from himself could he feel the little soul shard shifting restlessly in the beautiful diadem.

For the first time in this entire endeavour to discover and destroy Voldemort's horcruxes (which he assumed this must be, considering he doubted any other witches and wizards knew of or would attempt such black magic), Harry felt a little stirring of pity in his chest. Whatever had caused Voldemort to become this way, whatever the shadow of a man experienced when he was young, it had created a monster beyond comprehension. Yet this little piece of soul struggled at Harry's presence, almost desperate for attention and company in its behaviour.

Harry realised that no matter how horrible and scarred and blackened Voldemort's soul must be, this piece didn't understand that. All it knew was that it's metaphorical edges were weeping from the tear, that it struggled with the encompassing loneliness of no sight, touch, feel or awareness. It almost had a desperation about it that reminded Harry that this was a human soul, an amazing gift of life in and of itself. Even Voldemort, after having lost his corporal form, haunted the forests of Albania searching for someone to haunt and possess. Perhaps out of desire for resurrection, but also subconsciously to seek interaction and attention.

This realisation certainly didn't stop Harry from wanting to destroy the magical object, but it drove home the fundamental horror that was horcrux creation. He doubted even Voldemort knew the intricacies of his own soul, blindingly splitting himself into tiny pieces and leaving himself scattered across the globe without understanding the terror he was inflicting on himself. Harry wondered if the soul pieces still interacted with the main body of Voldemort's soul, feeding the man's insanity and paranoia and hatred without the man's understanding or knowledge of the fact.

Harry recalled his most recent interaction with Voldemort, the monster's eyes carrying a hunger, a mad desperation glinting in the window to his soul that looked insatiable. _A half-life, a cursed life,_ Harry thought suddenly, recalling the words of his first year. It was both ironic and repulsive that Voldemort could be so clever, so magically gifted, and yet so completely and utterly ignorant to the intricacies of human life and magic.

Harry scowled suddenly, walking away from the tiara and sitting down just outside of the magical aura. He could tell that the diadem was fuelling his thoughts, feeding on the pity and nostalgia for a time he wasn't even alive for. Wishing that he could go back in time and either raise the little Tom Riddle right or suffocate him in his sleep.

Harry sat down heavily on the floor and put his head in his hands. How he kept happening across these horcruxes was incredible. How many were there, if Harry could stumble across them like the long-lost scattered belongings of a madman?

Harry stood to his feet and transfigured a bag out of a large animal hide draped over a desk. He approached the diadem and used a discarded handkerchief to pick it up and place it in the bag. Harry knew that the soul piece wasn't strong enough to hurt him, but he wasn't sure what curses were laced into the priceless metals and gems. He didn't want to expose the horcrux to his soul or magic either, knowing that the diary too had seemed innocuous right up to the moment it started writing back.

Harry held the bag at arm's length and made his way out of the room. He highly doubted that Malfoy was messing around with the horcrux, as Voldemort was unlikely to tell the boy his secret of immortality, and vowed to return the next night before Malfoy even left the Slytherin Commons.

Harry summoned Kreacher once outside of the Room of Requirement. Kreacher popped into existence before Harry and smirked at the black-haired boy, Kreacher's version of a beaming smile.

"Masters Harrys!" Kreacher stated, wiping wet hands on the front of his ragged tunic. "How may I's be helping Masters Harry?"

Harry smiled softly down at his house elf. "Hello, Kreacher. Thanks for coming so quickly. I have a bit of a… Situation," Harry elaborated. "I can't tell you out here – Merlin knows whose ears or eyes are watching us."

Kreacher's invisible eyebrows drew together (the bushy hair having been shaved off by Dobby to keep up with current house elf fashion) and the elf pursed his lips. The old creature looked at the bag Harry held away at arm's length and his eyes widened.

"Home?" The elf asked hopefully.

Harry smiled at the elf, taking the tiny outstretched hand and nodded. "Home."

* * *

Kreacher apparated them directly into the entrance hall of the ancestral Black house, the loud crack thankfully not awakening Walburga Black. Harry immediately dropped the bag to the floor and stepped back, feeling a little dizzy from the black magic rolling off the crown.

"What's being in theres, Masters Harry?" Kreacher asked curiously, walking around the bag and giving it a large berth.

"Another one," Harry sighed, putting his hands on his hips. "Another gift from the Dark Lord, one could say."

Kreacher's eyes widened and his head whipped around to look at Harry.

"Shall I's be puts-ing it with the others?" Kreacher asked solemnly, hands tugging nervously at the edge of his tunic.

Harry nodded tiredly and looked at the old grandfather clock down the hall, which liked to shoot passers-bys with sharp, rapidly projected arrows. It was a quarter to three in the morning and Harry felt his brain fizzle and splutter with exhaustion. He had to get up in three hours and hadn't been getting the best night's sleep since Saturday, his dreams full of horrible memories, strange inventions of his mind, and white-blond hair.

Kreacher disapparated with the bag to hide the horcrux with the other cursed objects of the Black household and the Locket. Harry wasn't sure if keeping two horcruxes close together would have a negative effect, such as the objects interacting, but at the moment Harry couldn't find it in himself to care. The Black family had enough dark artefacts to invest in neutralising storage for their heirlooms. The Black ancestral home was full of custom built curio cabinets, proudly displaying their wares of hexed items, cursed jewels and more. Kreacher was familiar with those inscribed with runes to neutralise the worst of the black magic in order to prevent the objects from damaging one another and injuring occupants of the house.

Harry never thought he would be happy to own possibly the darkest household in Britain, but at the moment it was certainly coming in handy.

Once Kreacher returned, Harry held out his hand with barely open eyes.

"No, Masters Harry! You's be staying here tonight. You's looking ill," the elf stated, stamping his feet. Harry saw a tantrum on the horizon and wasn't prepared to fight the elf, especially when the tiny being stood with his hands on his hips and a determined glint in his eyes. Harry nodded tiredly and was rewarded with Kreacher's victorious smirk. Kreacher took his hand and apparated them directly into Sirius' bedroom.

"Off to sleeps, Masters Harry," Kreacher crooned as he tucked the boy into the bed as if he were a child.

Harry couldn't find it in himself to protest the elf's disturbing antics and was asleep the moment his head hit the pillows.

* * *

Kreacher woke Harry up at precisely six o'clock. Harry stretched and awoke with ease, his short sleep the best rest he had gotten in nearly five days.

"Up, up, up!" Kreacher crowed, dashing around the room to collect Harry's clothes and tossing them at the relaxed boy.

Harry smiled at the excitable elf, once more amazed by the difference between old Kreacher and new Kreacher. He dressed quickly and at five minutes past six am, the pair apparated back into Hogwarts.

Harry was immediately surprised to note that Kreacher had apparated them into the kitchens. The elves squealed happily, surrounding the boy and hoping with joy.

"Enough-sies!" A voice roared through the crowd. Dobby stepped forward, wearing a rather dazzling broach pinned to his filthy tunic and a large knitted tea cosy on his head, and the sea of elves parted.

"Masters Harry!" Dobby welcomed happily, running forward to hug Harry's leg.

"Hi, Dobby," Harry answered, smiling at the little elf and patting his head gently.

Kreacher snarled and put his hands on his hips, clearly unimpressed by Dobby's behaviour. Dobby stuck his tongue out at the older elf and continued clutching Harry's leg defiantly. Harry hesitated, not sure of the social protocol around warring elves.

"Would it be alright to request breakfast?" Harry asked kindly. All tension vanished as every elf in the kitchens cheered, exploding into motion. Before Harry knew what was happening, a breakfast of oatmeal, fruit and black coffee was placed on a table and he was sitting down, dominated by the little hands pushing and shoving him into place. Harry laughed and thanked the elves for his favourite breakfast and they beamingly returned to their breakfast preparations.

Dobby and Kreacher sat at the table with Harry, clearly a sign of power and dignity amongst the other elves. Harry welcomed them politely and listened to their chattering.

"Dumbly-dors being very upset," Dobby stated, filling in Kreacher on the on-goings of the castle. "Dumbly-dors being looking for Masters Harry."

Harry looked up sharply. "When did this happen?" He asked through a mouthful of oatmeal. Kreacher scowled and Harry obediently closed his mouth to swallow his food.

"Masters Draco being upsets and trying to breaks into Gryffindor," Dobby answered, face scrunching up in thought.

"'Masters Draco?'" Harry repeated, flabbergasted that the elf would call him that.

"Masters Draco being Dobby's master by choice; you's being the one who convinces Masters Draco to make Dobby a free elf," Dobby declared happily.

Harry stared at Dobby in surprise. "But… I thought you were freed when I snuck you the sock?" He asked in confusion.

Dobby looked at Harry pityingly, as if humouring a stupid question from a small child. "Masters Harrys not being able to lets Dobby go, Dobby's being tied to Malfoy Heir Draco. Dobby's pretending to be frees, but Masters Draco heard-sies the story and be letting Dobby go, because this is what Dobby's be wanting!" The elf declared.

Harry gaped. He had never even considered that the sock might not have worked since 'freeing' Dobby, but it made sense. There was no intent for the Malfoy household to let Dobby go so the magical bond would not have changed. And if Dobby was Draco Malfoy's house elf, not Lucius', the elder wouldn't have known the difference. The older man probably thought it worked as well since Dobby had pretended to be freed. And to think that Draco would then turn around and let Dobby go because that's what the elf _wanted_ … It was incomprehensible.

"Oh," Harry stated. "But what's this about Malfoy and Dumbledore looking for me?"

"Oh, Masters Harry," Dobby sighed softly. "You's being so innocent and cute-sies." The elf sounded exasperated as he shook his head and patted Harry's hand kindly, if not slightly belittlingly.

Kreacher rolled his eyes as the younger elf's antics. "You's being claimed by the Malfoy boy, yes?" Kreacher asked slowly, as if speaking to a brain damaged child.

"Yes," Harry answered unevenly, not sure how the two elves knew and why they were so casual about it.

"Masters Draco be making a bond with Masters Harry!" Dobby stated, smiling. "Masters Draco be feeling when Masters Harry be leaving Hogwarts!"

Harry paled. "Can Draco sense when I'm nearby?" Harry asked, warily.

"When the bonds be growing stronger," Kreacher confirmed, looking at Harry through narrow eyes. "But for nows, Draco's be feeling only when Masters Harry be going far away."

Harry sighed. At least Malfoy hadn't figured out he was being tailed by Harry, at least to the best of Harry's knowledge, but it was miserable to find out that there was even more to this claiming nonsense other than a welted hickey, bruised pride and being forced to wear scarves all day long.

"Yeah, okay, well fuck," Harry stated crudely. "So now Malfoy's looking for me, Dumbledore is looking for me, and all of Hogwarts is going to know." Harry felt despair settling in the bottom of his stomach at the thought of another gust of gossip churning the Hogwart's rumour mill.

"Dumbly-dors being very subtle," Dobby defended, a little hurt. "No needs to be upsets, Master Harry!"

Kreacher looked less appeased. "Hush, Dobby," the elf barked. "You's being off now, Masters Harry." The elf demanded and Harry's half eaten breakfast disappeared. Harry rolled his eyes and obeyed, standing to his feet and thanking the other elves for their efforts as they happily waved him out of the kitchens.


	15. Chapter 15: Where There's Smoke

_Thanks again to everyone for the kind reviews, favourites & follows! I'm so pleased you're enjoying this story. I had this mental image of Harry and Draco's attraction being like two objects orbiting around one another, pulling closer and closer and crashing into one another occasionally and eventually drawn together into the middle in an explosion of heat. This is why it's taken me so long to finally get to their relationship - I feel like they're both much too stubborn to have immediately fallen into each other's arms even though there's an animalistic, magnetic attraction between them. Also, it's important to note that I don't necessarily hate Dumbledore and I don't want my Harry to either but I genuinely think Dumbles got off way too easy in canon._

* * *

 _Kreacher looked less appeased. "Hush, Dobby," the elf barked. "You's being off now, Masters Harry." The elf demanded and Harry's half eaten breakfast disappeared. Harry rolled his eyes and obeyed, standing to his feet and thanking the other elves for their efforts as they happily waved him out of the kitchens._

* * *

 **Chapter 15: Where There's Smoke, There's Fire**

Harry walked through the corridors sulkily and made his way to Dumbledore's office. It was still early, not even six fifteen in the morning, and he wasn't too worried about running into the other students.

As he neared Dumbledore's office entrance, Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply, allowing himself to clear his mind and mediate slightly. After a few moments of silence, Harry finally felt ready to face the music.

"I believe Dumbledore has requested my presence?" Harry asked the gargoyles unsurely as they glared at him grumpily. Even though he didn't have the password, the gargoyles jumped to the side and a large spinning staircase curved into view. Harry nodded at the scowling figurines and made his way up the stairwell.

At the top of the landing, Harry held the ornate banister and inhaled through his nose. He could feel Dumbledore just beyond the doorway, the taste of his magic old but powerful, and he was accompanied by a few other presences. Harry knocked soundly on the door and it swung open to welcome him into the office Harry hadn't seen since he last destroyed most of Dumbledore's belongings.

Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, relaxing into a large upholstered chair and eyes twinkling madly. Harry pulled his gaze from the sparkling blue eyes of Dumbledore and surveyed the room. Harry was surprised to see Hermione, Luna, Neville, Ginny and, even more alarmingly, Malfoy.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked, launching forward to hug Harry within an inch of suffocation. His other friends fluttered around him, but Harry kept an eye on Malfoy as he sat in the corner of the room, looking supremely furious and utterly unimpressed.

"Hi, Hermione," Harry croaked out.

"You, you, you –" Hermione stuttered, her happiness at seeing him safe swiftly turning into rage. "You just _left!_ And you didn't tell _anyone_!" Hermione pulled back and whacked him painfully on the shoulder. "We thought that you ran off to do something _typically Harry_ or _worse_ –"

"That's enough, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore cut her off, looking more amused than upset. "Mr. Potter surely has a tale to tell us, however in the meantime I believe you have all worried enough. I am willing to provide a pass for the day so you may all get some rest, if you require."

Hermione looked alarmed at the prospect of missing class. "Oh, no, Professor Dumbledore," Hermione answered before anyone could open their mouths. "We can all definitely still go to class."

Neville and Ginny groaned, looking tired and very annoyed with the brunette girl. Luna merely walked over to Dumbledore, kissed the man's brow, and whispered, "See you at breakfast, great uncle!"

She then swooped out of the room, leaving a very confused group of young adults standing frozen in her wake. Neville then shook his head in humour at Luna's antics and took Hermione and Ginny's hands, leading them out of the room despite their protests.

Once the door shut and the sound of the turning stairwell could be heard, Harry turned back to Dumbledore.

"Hello, Professor," Harry greeted weakly.

"'Hello, Professor'? Is that all you have to say?" Malfoy finally said, voice trembling in fury.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore replied kindly, ignoring Malfoy's outburst. "Do take a seat. Lemon drop?" He asked hopefully.

"Oh, no thank you, sir," Harry declined politely. He took a seat across the desk from the professor and folded his hands in his lap.

"Am I fucking invisible?" Malfoy ground out. Harry looked at Malfoy, startled by his language in front of the headmaster.

"Now, now," Dumbledore tutted patiently. "We really must hear Harry out before jumping to conclusions, as I have recently been reminded," Dumbledore stated, peering at Harry calmly over half-moon spectacles.

Harry nodded at Dumbledore in silent thanks.

"I genuinely don't believe this is an appropriate conversation to be had in front of Malfoy, sir," Harry began.

Malfoy lurched to his feet. " _Fuck you_ , Potter," he roared, the wand in his hand twitching in agitation.

Dumbledore stood to his feet and stared at Malfoy warningly. "That is quite enough, Mr. Malfoy. You may wait outside in the entrance way on the bench. We shan't be too long, I believe. After which, you may discuss your misgivings with Mr. Potter," Dumbledore stated firmly, his normally twinkling eyes now flinty and dark with resolve.

Malfoy gaped at Dumbledore for a moment and then nodded curtly, his infamous mask shuttering his face instantly. He walked past Harry quickly, not even glancing at the boy, and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Ah, to be young again," Dumbledore chuckled, seemingly undisturbed by Malfoy's lack of respect. Harry smiled tightly. "Now, my dear boy, I'll let you get the ball rolling," Dumbledore encouraged, relaxing back into his chair and lacing his fingers over his long beard.

"I believe it's time we were honest with one another, sir," Harry murmured, looking across the room to watch Fawkes preen his feathers. He had regrown since his sudden death and rebirth at the Ministry and he chirped in greeting.

"I agree," Dumbledore said, but then fell silent.

Harry felt a wave of irritation swell in his stomach and he shut his eyes, willing himself to remain calm. He reopened his eyes and focused on Dumbledore's with intensity.

"I know about the horcruxes," Harry stated, not dramatic nor angry but firm.

Dumbledore paled marginally, but he did not react more.

"And I have uncovered four, I think," Harry continued, seeing the headmaster was not going to contribute to the conversation just yet. "Two have been destroyed and I have two more in my possession. I believe I know how to destroy them but wanted your input on the matter before going forward."

Dumbledore looked at Harry, eyes wide and mouth parted. Harry had never seen the man looked so flabbergasted and would have been amused if it not were for the fact Dumbledore had been caught red-handed withholding information once more.

"Harry," the old man breathed, eyes sad at Harry's cold irritation. "This is something I did not think you ready for yet."

"No?" Harry asked, his light laughter belying the hurt in his chest. "When would have been appropriate? Just before I duelled Voldemort? Were you hoping I died moments before I cursed him, destroying the monster once and for all? Would you really put that much chance on the will of fate?"

Dumbledore looked as if he had been slapped. Tears shone lightly in his electric blue eyes.

Harry inhaled sharply through his nose. "You were," he whispered. "You really weren't going to tell me, not until I had no other way to back out."

"Harry," Dumbledore repeated once more, looking as if to continue.

"If you _dare_ tell me that I must forgive an old man's mistakes once more, Dumbledore," Harry cut in, still relaxed in his chair as he twirled his wand. "I swear to god that last year's destruction will look like cannon fodder compared to what I'll do to you next."

Dumbledore's mouth shut with an audible click and Harry chuckled.

"I see we have come to an impasse, Professor," Harry said amicably and he smiled with chilling professional politeness at the headmaster. "I propose a trade. I will tell you what I know and you tell me what you know. It's a very simple transaction. We work together to bring Voldemort down. If you don't tell me what you know, then that's your prerogative." Harry leaned forward in his chair, eyes glinting. "But I will no longer play this game on your terms."

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully as he looked out a window facing the rising sun.

"I have done you injustice, Harry," Dumbledore whispered into the silent office. "But I cannot let you do this on your own. It is vital we work together to protect those around us."

"Don't get me wrong, Professor," Harry stated, reclining in his chair once more. "I will stop at nothing to end Voldemort. I'm destined to do as the prophecy says, no matter how one looks at it. I simply have no patience for being led around by the nose, blindly dropped into situations I have not been prepared for nor warned of. Had I been trained properly by Snape, had I been told of the connection with Voldemort, had I actually been forewarned that the fury and rage boiling under my skin was not mine – perhaps Sirius would be here today."

Dumbledore looked down, hands resting on his desk.

"But that's neither here nor there," Harry sighed, no longer interested in trading barbs or accusations on the old wizard. "I need to know – will you give me the Sword of Gryffindor?"

Dumbledore peered up at Harry. "That is a rather loaded request, my boy," he murmured, looking pensive. "I will consider this. I feel I must also inform you that I have found a horcrux as well. However, my intuitions are aging almost faster than I am, Harry," he added, raising a blackened hand for Harry to inspect.

Harry closed his eyes, not wanted to look at nor feel the black magic radiating off Dumbledore's wand hand.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Harry answered, struck with the realisation that the headmaster did not have much time left.

Dumbledore surprised him by chuckling. "Even after all you have been through, Harry, you have a good heart," the man said, smiling kindly at Harry. "And for the disservice I have done to you, I am truly sorry. I am not the man I once was and it is ignorant of me to think otherwise," Dumbledore sighed.

Harry felt the words on his soul like a balm, soothing the residual hurt and anger, though he knew he would never truly forgive the headmaster. He realised that Dumbledore was once a great wizard, a sharp man of wit and strategy, but he now fumbled around pulling strings he once understood and was hopelessly outmatched in his own chess games.

Harry stood and approached the desk, outstretching his hand in silent request. The old man peered at him quizzically but obliged, placing the black appendage in Harry's smaller one. Harry closed his eyes and reached out to the curse, feeling it purr and respond with dark joy at his magical caress. Harry felt his newly adopted heritage of dark magic encourage him to feed the curse, to speed up the decay and death. But Harry came from a strong background of firm resistance against dark magic and he focused singularly on the intricate threads holding the curse together.

Within his mind's eye, Harry studied the curse and gently began unravelling the web of magic. He plucked the curse here and there, a brilliant concoction of Voldemort's design (making Harry appreciate the bastard's ingenuity a little bit, to his disgust), and encouraged it to listen with soft caresses. After nearly fifteen minutes of ruthless concentration, with Harry trying to encourage the magic to reshape without blowing Dumbledore's hand clean off, the curse allowed itself to be untangled and snapped into nonexistence with a small puff of foul smelling green smoke.

Harry opened his eyes, weary and swaying on his feet from the effort, and looked up into Dumbledore's tearful expression.

"You are truly a remarkable boy, Harry," Dumbledore whispered, pulling his still-blackened limb back to his side for inspection.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry answered mildly. "Though I'm afraid there is nothing I can do for the damage. You will be ill, Professor, and I do not doubt that you will pass away in the coming years from the damage. But you will have longer," Harry whispered, looking down. "Cherish your family, Professor. I'm not asking you to retire, and I would argue against you should you suggest it, but it's time to enjoy the rest of your life and let me take the reins."

Dumbledore smiled, a melancholy gesture filled with appreciation and nostalgia. "Thank you, Harry. Unfortunately, I have already employed the services of Severus to see to my death at the end of this school year."

Harry's head snapped up to gape at Dumbledore, amazed by his forthcoming honesty and the fact he had hired _Snape_ to assassinate him.

"Why, Professor?" He breathed, hoping the old man would answer with the truth and not another damned riddle.

"It appears Draco has been forced into taking the Mark and has been given a mission by Voldemort, one he is guaranteed to fail," Dumbledore answered, looking at Harry meaningfully.

Harry rolled his eyes – if Dumbledore couldn't resist twisting an answer, then Harry was going to react in kind. But Harry had become accustomed to years of Dumbledore's manipulations and he understood the man's intent. "Malfoy is being forced to kill you?" Harry asked for clarification.

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "Draco cannot kill me; it is not within his nature. Severus could not bear to see his godson's downfall, especially over an impossible mission designed as a punishment for his father's failures, and came to me for guidance. My death will satisfy Voldemort and will ensure Severus is entrenched in his ranks."

"Can't Snape find another way?" Harry asked, ignoring Dumbledore's stressed ' _Professor, Harry.'_ "Surely if you explain the situation."

"Unfortunately not, my boy. Severus has taken an Unbreakable Vow and will die should he not complete the mission. Severus' role in this war is far greater than mine and though I do not wish to die, Harry, my time looms near." Dumbledore then paused, looking at Harry curiously. "Though, perhaps a boy who can undo an unbreakable curse may be able to unravel an unbreakable vow," he added thoughtfully.

Harry breathed through his nose deeply, not terribly interested in helping _Snape_. But if this was what it was going to take to get what he wanted, Harry would agree.

"The sword, professor," Harry stated. "The sword and your knowledge – for Snape's life and yours."

Dumbledore's bushy eyebrows drew together at the distasteful deal but nodded.

"I believe there to be seven," Dumbledore began, an abrupt change of topic.

"Me, the diary, a crown, and a locket," Harry answered, catching on. "What else?"

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Does the crown look like a raven, Harry?" He asked, astounded. Harry nodded and Dumbledore laughed outright. "It appears, Harry, that you have found Ravenclaw's Diadem, an artefact missing for centuries. And I would guess the locket has an _S_ on its face? Ah, that's what I thought. Salazar Slytherin's locket. Though how you came across it, I find myself curious."

Harry frowned. "The others, and then I'll tell you."

Dumbledore acquiesced. "I believe these to be the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff, Voldemort's snake Nagini, and this, the Resurrection Stone," he said, raising a damaged ring with a large, split black stone on its face. The lack of black magic inhabiting the ring and the large crack down the stone's face led Harry to believe Dumbledore had already destroyed the horcrux, though an immense aura of grey, pulsing energy emanated from the ring.

Harry nodded. "So, just the Cup of Hufflepuff and Nagini left to steal?" He asked lightly. Dumbledore chuckled in response.

"It would appear so," Dumbledore confirmed.

"I found the diadem in the Room of Requirement. Regulus Black stole the locket, though from where I am not sure. He gave it to Kreacher to destroy, who could not and gave it to me on the condition I would destroy it," Harry ended abruptly, satisfying his part of the deal. Dumbledore hummed deeply.

"I wish Sirius was here to know," Harry added softly, looking down at his hands. "It's not right that he died thinking his brother was a Death Eater."

"Many people have done horrible things in the name of this war, Harry, and repentance can never right a wrong," Dumbledore answered gently, looking directly at Harry. "Though sometimes it is not appropriate to judge, but rather to listen and understand. This is something to consider regarding your Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore added, the glitter returning to his eyes.

Harry pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. "One last question," he said, feeling the meeting was coming to a close. At Dumbledore's nod he asked, "Where to find the cup?"

"I have a few theories, Harry, but I cannot say for sure. I will provide you my notes after dinner," Dumbledore responded. Harry nodded, knowing that Dumbledore definitely did have a working theory that he wasn't sharing but the man had been so straightforward for most of the meeting that he could let this one go.

"Now," Dumbledore stated loudly, clapping his now un-cursed hands together. "I believe we have left Mr. Malfoy out there for long enough. I find myself quite peckish and would like to pop down to breakfast before Madame Pomfrey eats all of the date scones. Would you care to use my office?" Dumbledore asked kindly.

Harry nodded and thanked the professor. Dumbledore left his office, a bounce in his step for the first time in years. Harry heard him speaking to Malfoy through the door though the words were muted. Harry sat on his chair nervously, playing with his fingers as he waited for Malfoy to enter.

The door opened and closed softly. Harry closed his eyes and ducked his head, not ready to hear the slew of vitriol that Malfoy was certainly going to heap on him.

To his surprise, the room remained silent and Harry felt a finger under his chin, lifting his head up. He peered through his eyelashes at Malfoy, who kneeled on the floor before his chair. He watched Malfoy's storm grey eyes, unsure of what the boy was doing.

"I was worried," Malfoy whispered.

Harry felt a barrage of words ready on the tip of his tongue, prepared to rip Malfoy a new one, but he felt his tongue suddenly stick to the top of his mouth at the genuine concern in Malfoy's voice.

"You left and I didn't know if you had been kidnapped or if you decided to go off on your own and…" Malfoy trailed off, his mouth contorting as he struggled to speak.

Harry leaned forward and pressed his lips to Malfoy's, hoping to silence the boy. The kiss was soft, sweet and innocent; it was everything Harry needed to calm the sea of indecision in his stomach. A warmth burst in his chest and spread down into his stomach as Malfoy responded gently, wrapping hands around Harry's neck in encouragement.

"I really like you, Malfoy, even though you're a total prat," Harry whispered conspiratorially between their kisses, looking at Malfoy through thick lashes and carefully gauging his reactions.

"Malfoy? What happened to Draco?" Malfoy whispered lightly against his lips teasingly. "I like you too," the boy admitted softly. "Though I would like you even more if you showed me the Chamber."

Harry leaned back and quirked an eyebrow at the boy, his hands still resting on the blond's shoulders. A bubble of laughter began to swell in Harry's chest and he was amazed by the happiness inspired by the blond just by his near presence. "I'm beginning to think that's a euphemism, _Draco,_ " Harry replied cheekily.

Malfoy choked and, to Harry's amazement, actually _blushed_. "You are such a brat," Malfoy – Draco? – snarked and he dove in to reclaim Harry's lips.

Harry moved back, avoiding the attack, and ignored the glimmer of hurt in the blond's eye.

"You really want to see the Chamber?" Harry asked curiously.

Malfoy – _Draco,_ his mind whispered happily – nodded quickly, looking like Christmas had come early.

"Fine. I'll show you now, which means we only have an hour and a half before classes," Harry sighed, standing.

Draco grinned and Harry's breath caught in his throat. He had never seen such an unadulterated look of happiness on the other boy before and it caught him by surprise.

"Come now, _Harry_ ," Draco laughed with mischief in his eye. "Let's go!" He grabbed Harry's hand and the smaller boy was pulled out of Dumbledore's office and down the hallway like the hounds of hell were on their heels.

The boys made it to the second-floor girl's bathroom in record time, with Harry stumbling behind Draco as the boy's long legs outstrode him with ease.

"Hello!" Myrtle greeted them. "Here to snog again?" She asked hopefully.

Harry blushed as Draco laughed, clearly high on the thought of seeing his house namesake's secret chambers. "Keep it in your pants, old gal," Draco chuckled and pulled Harry towards the middle of the room. "Well, go on then," he demanded.

Harry rolled his eyes and stole his hand back from Draco. "You have to promise not to tell anyone," Harry stated firmly.

Draco looked a little put out but nodded.

"Ah, going into the Chamber? 'S probably a better hiding spot than a broom cupboard, hm?" Myrtle pondered thoughtfully.

Harry blushed even harder and busied himself with finding Slytherin's insignia.

Harry focused on the little snake carved into the sink and whispered " _Open!"_ To his surprise (and relief), parseltongue came out of his mouth rather than English and the gateway to the Chamber of Secrets began to open. Harry turned to Draco and smiled.

Draco stood before him looking completely and utterly thrilled. He grabbed Harry and pressed a rough kiss on the raven's lips, practically vibrating with joy. "It's really hot when you speak parseltongue, you know that, right?" Draco quipped, obviously trying to rile Harry up while sneaking a hand down the back of Harry's pants.

Harry smirked. "Well, it's one of my better gifts from Voldemort. I wonder if you'd like it as much coming from his mouth?"

Draco paled and pulled away quickly, smacking Harry lightly on the shoulder. "Merlin, Potter, no need to go ruining a perfectly good kink," the boy snarked, leaning over the large pipe and staring into the depths of the entrance. Harry blushed at the insinuation (and worried that he was going to pass out from his skyrocketing blood pressure alone) and pushed Draco vengefully.

The boy screamed ( _girlishly_ , Harry thought with vicious glee) as he fell into the hole.

Harry quirked a smile at Moaning Myrtle, who winked suggestively in response, and jumped.


	16. Chapter 16: If A Snake Falls

_Harry quirked a smile at Moaning Myrtle, who winked suggestively in response, and jumped._

* * *

 **Chapter 16: If A Snake Falls In A Chamber, Does It Make A Sound?**

Harry was grateful for the cushioning charm at the end of the entrance as he gently bumped and bounced his way down to the mouth of the pipe. It was pitch black, as he recalled it would be, and he landed in a soft _oomph_ on a pile of bones. A hand shot out from the darkness and Harry was pulled under a hard, hot frame.

"You're such a twat," Draco breathed, his breath fanning across Harry's cheeks. A mouth descended on his lips and Harry smiled cheekily into the kiss. Harry allowed Draco to kiss him for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of losing himself to the blond's lips, then gently pushed him away as he felt the drumbeat stir in his mind and his control slipping.

Harry stood in the darkness and slunk deeper into the entrance of the chamber. The rubble from the large landslide caused by his last visit had since shifted, clearing a path to the large entrance portal. He stared at the door with concentration, trying to ignore the heat of the body sliding up against his back, hands slipping around his waist and a distracting kiss pressed to his shoulder, whispering _Open_ with a shaking voice.

"Holy Salazar," Draco whispered reverently as the large inner chamber came into view.

The Chamber of Secrets was exactly how Harry recalled it. The water flooding the floor had risen slightly since his first visit, a few centimetres higher and just as cold and crystal clear as before. The enormous, carved face of Salazar Slytherin gaped horribly at him at the back of the room, the massive bust as eerie and spooky now as it was when he was twelve. The boys walked through the portal and Draco blanched.

A massive basilisk carcass lay waste in the chamber, half of its body laying below the surface of the water in which Harry assumed an unwater pipe lay. The beast thankfully didn't smell as it had five years to decay and all that remained was the massive skeletal hull, leathery skin wrapped across the ribbed frame, and an enormous skull.

"It's incredible," Draco breathed.

Harry looked at him, startled. "I think you mean creepy," Harry corrected, eyebrows drawn together sceptically. Draco rolled his eyes and reached the front of the massive chamber, touching the stone beard of Salazar Slytherin with awe.

"We could make so much money if we harvested the basilisk – even with what little remains," Draco breathed in reverence. He spun around, looking at the pipes and entrances branching out of the main chamber. "Can you image how many priceless heirlooms and records are hidden in here?" Draco whispered. "Slytherin was rumoured to have a secret study. I bet his lost diaries are in here somewhere!"

"Don't go sticking your nose around just yet," Harry answered firmly. "Merlin knows what Slytherin booby-trapped the chamber with; we'll need a curse breaker to check everything first before we start opening doors."

Draco sneered at him, though it was more out of habit than actual annoyance, and asked sarcastically, "And where are we supposed to find one of those?"

"Bill Weasley works for Gringotts as a curse breaker," Harry answered simply, looking around the room and appreciating the cathedral height of the high ceilings. "I'm sure he'd be happy to help."

Draco growled, a deep, animalistic sound that reverberated in the room. Harry spun on his heel and came face to face with molten silver eyes. Harry gasped lightly and tried to retreat, taken aback by the ferociousness in Draco's expression.

"You're mine," Draco breathed dangerously, eyes lit up in possessive fervour and hands wrapping around Harry's hips to hold him in place.

Harry's eyebrows drew together once more and he frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?" He asked, carefully not contradicting Draco – especially when the boy looked like he was on a mission to make a point.

Draco's eyes narrowed and he pressed the tip of his nose against Harry's. "An unmated _leprechaun_ like Bill Weasley has no right sniffing around the claimed," Draco stated cryptically, a blond eyebrow raising imperiously. "And you have no right to flaunt around just yet, not when you've neither accepted nor rejected me."

Harry pursed his lips, frustrated by the non-answer. "That's ridiculous, Draco. He's practically a brother. What are you even talking about?"

"You really have no idea, do you?" Draco asked wondrously, stepping impossibly closer. "You're like a little unicorn foal, innocently stumbling around a forest of wolves completely unaware." Draco laughed and warm hands slipped down Harry's back and around his arse, drawing a surprised squeak from the smaller boy. Draco ducked his head and caught Harry in a searing kiss, punishing and possessive. Despite his irritation, Harry sighed into the kiss, tilting his head and wrapping arms around Draco's corded neck.

Before he could argue, Harry was pushed over and lowered to the floor by Draco, who carefully held himself on top of the raven with determined strength.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, trying desperately to be appalled but the words tumbled out his mouth breathily. He blushed at the sound and tried to push warningly on the chest, but found himself unbuttoning the soft robes under his hands instead. Draco continued to devour Harry's lips, driving the boy to distraction with the mind-numbing ministrations.

Hands roved his waist as Draco's weight pushed him onto the cold stone harshly, his hips nestling into Harry's parted legs. Harry forgot every protest on the lip of his tongue, his world melting into nothingness and white-noise, and he let himself relax into the domineering touch with a keening whine.

Draco's kisses lessened in brutality as Harry submitted marginally, turning deeper and more passionate with each stroke. Harry felt his body sink into a trance, his mind going blank and body twining around Draco's taunt frame.

"Harry," Draco breathed against his lips, pulling back slightly and tensely trembling as if he could barely force himself to do so.

Harry ignored the boy's attempt to gain his attention and he arched into the tense frame, yanking the blond's head down with firm hands as he placed an open-mouthed kiss on a soft neck.

"Harry," Draco choked out, sounding strangled. "If you don't stop _right now_ , I won't be able to."

Harry didn't register the words, his ears full of chaotic noise and heat and wardrums. Something pushed Harry, screaming _more, more, more_ and he obeyed with helpless abandon _._ Harry felt Draco snap and push him down harder, moaning with approval as large hands yanked his parted knees further open and wrapped Harry's legs around his hips. A hard, dangerous heat pressed between Harry's thighs and he gasped loudly at the sudden contact.

The lips against his took advantage, ravaging his mouth with vicious determination and a twist of tongue. Draco's hips ground into Harry's and the raven moaned helplessly loud into the echoing chamber. Harry's hands pulled off Draco's robe sharply and clawed at the soft shirt under his hands, pulling it up to feel the rippling muscles pressing against his frame. His nails elongated marginally and Harry bucked as his body shifted into something more animalistic, something native and natural to his new blood.

" _Fuck, please don't stop, Draco_ ," Harry whispered reverently, not aware the words left his mouth in parseltongue. Despite the heavily accented words slipping from Harry's lips like a prayer, Draco heard his name somewhere in the mix and responded with fervour. He yanked Harry's head to the side and bit down once more on Harry's mark, bucking ferociously into Harry's hips and grinding ruthlessly into the sprite below him. The stimulation was too much for Harry's exhausted mind and high-strung nerves, his tense body arching viciously into Draco and mouth gaping as he released a silent cry.

Harry's eyes rolled into the back of his head as stars exploded in his eyes, the chaos of noise rushing through his ears reaching a symphony of deafening proportions. Harry arched and cried out into the dark chamber, sharp nails scratching down Draco's tense back as his wound body trembled and released, his world shattering around him. The body above him shuddered, teeth withdrawing but lips remaining against the bleeding join of Harry's neck, and collapsed.

Harry stared unseeingly up at the ceiling, his body twitching and pumping with adrenaline and near heart-stopping satisfaction. His nails retracted and he felt his body shift ever so slightly as his elven genes retreated in pleasure.

"You minx," Draco teased tiredly into Harry's neck, bringing Harry out of his dazed daydream. Harry's eyes blinked blearily, his muscles melted and mind sedated.

"What –" Harry began breathlessly before stopping, realising his nails were still digging into Draco's back. He retracted his nails guiltily and smoothed down the blond's shirt, trying to ignore the wet slipperiness of blood under his nails. "Did we just – I mean –"

"Rub off on one another like insanely hormonal teenagers?" Draco murmured into his neck, nipping at the bite and sending sparks through Harry's body with each touch of teeth to flesh. "Mm, definitely."

Harry blushed and covered his eyes with his hands, digging his palms into his sockets. "I can't believe we just did that," Harry moaned, shifting uncomfortably at the stickiness in his pants and the dead weight of Draco's form.

Draco huffed a soft laugh, silently _scourify_ -ing them both and rolling off the bemoaning raven onto his back. "I can," Draco retorted, relaxing on the stone and cushioning his head on laced hands. "It was only a matter of time until you accepted the claiming. It was better for me to… Speed things up."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asked suspiciously and his tired brain protested his attempts to process Draco's words. He glanced over at Draco, who lay sprawled on the floor, eyes still that startling shade of molten silver and looking extremely pleased with himself.

Draco laughed again and soft lips pressed against Harry's in surprising tenderness. "You are such an idiot," crooned the blond. "But now you're _my_ idiot."

"I didn't bring you down here so you could molest me, you know," Harry scowled, trying to gain a semblance of dignity, though it was weakened by his inability to move away or really put any heat behind his words.

Draco's eyes flashed dangerously and the blond grabbed Harry's chin, pulling the raven's head sideways to look at him. "I think that's _exactly_ why you brought me down here," Draco whispered softly, running a finger down Harry's stomach and a wicked expression on his face. "And next time, I'm not holding back."

Harry inhaled sharply through his nose at the threat ( _Or promise?_ His mind chirped hopefully in betrayal) and he finally pulled away from the blond, stomach churning at his words. Harry propped himself up on his elbows and winced as he realised his lower back was bruised by the hard stone floor.

"I wouldn't move too much if I were you," Draco chuckled, pulling himself up to his feet and standing above Harry's trembling form.

"Why?" Harry asked helplessly, exhausted from his few hours of sleep over the past week and still wildly oversensitive from their… _Activities_ , he thought with a frown.

"You've accepted my Stake, Potter," Draco smirked. "And I wouldn't be surprised if you're out for the count today. Besides, take this time to relax. You'll be needing a lot more of me soon."

 _Ah, another nugget of cryptic psychobabble_ , Harry scowled darkly to himself as Draco winked and strolled out of the chamber. The blond could be heard making his way out of the pipe with a featherweight charm and Harry let his head fall back onto the stone floor. His body ached feverishly though the back of his mind purred, pleased and sedated. Harry groaned and pressed his palms into his eyes once more, wishing that he could stop getting himself into these situations.

* * *

Harry fell asleep in the dark chamber the moment Draco left and awoke at an unknown hour, lips turning blue from the cold and body trembling. His blood boiled under his skin, though it was a cold roil that reminded him of dry ice, slowly freezing his limbs with each passing second. He gasped, arching as his body contorted and muscles strained. Harry released a whine of pain, his mind scrambling as his nails grew once more and gouged the stone beneath him with impossible strength.

Harry panted, eyes rolling in his head and begging silently to be released from whatever curse he was under.

A loud _crack!_ sounded to his left but Harry barely noticed the sound over his torturous agony.

"Masters Harry!" A familiar voice squawked. Harry moaned in response to Kreacher's fluttering and waved a hand to keep him away. "None of that, yous!" Kreacher warned fiercely. The elf grabbed Harry's hand in a tight clench and apparated them both to safety.


	17. Chapter 17: What Goes Up Must Come Down

_Thank you so much for the follows and favourites :) And a huge thank you to reviews from rinet & ___Aubrey Simone (you made me squeal)_ , zucca302 (you're just amazing), & mithrilandtj (I genuinely cackled). I was pretty stressed out about the Chamber scene, especially since I haven't written anything like that before. But hopefully I haven't scared you lot off just yet!_

* * *

 _"Masters Harry!" A familiar voice squawked. Harry moaned in response to Kreacher's fluttering and waved a hand to keep him away. "None of that, yous!" Kreacher warned fiercely then grabbed Harry's hand with a tight clench and apparated them both to safety._

* * *

 **Chapter 17:** **What Goes Up Must Come Down**

Harry awoke in a soft bed with a deep groan. His head pounded and cotton filled his mouth, sticking his tongue to the top of his mouth. He felt worse than last year when Dean and Seamus badgered him and Ron into playing a drinking game with a contraband bottle of firewhiskey. His skin still shifted uncomfortably; it was like he had consumed an off batch of Polyjuice and was stuck in perpetual changing form.

"Masters Harrys being very _, very bad!_ " A little, deep voice berated him from the side of the bed.

Harry blearily opened an eye and looked over the bed edge. He came face to face with his house elf, wooden spoon in hand and scowl on his face. He recognised Sirius' bedroom and realised they had returned to the Ancestral House of Black.

"Hi, Kreacher," Harry croaked, throat scratchy, trying to remember when he drank an entire bottle of spirits.

"Bad, bad! _Shameful!_ " Kreacher growled, whacking Harry on the hand harshly with the wooden spoon.

Harry yelped in pain and reared back from the elf, nursing his stinging hand. "Wha-what did I do?" Harry asked fearfully, trying to think of a way to escape his house elf on a warpath.

"Masters Harry being accepting Stakes!" The elf roared, trying to clamber over the bed edge and smack Harry like a furious mother. Harry suddenly felt pity for Sirius and Regulus if Walburga was even half as vicious as Kreacher. Harry scooted back in the bed rapidly and misjudged the edge, toppling over the other side with an _oomph._

Harry moaned pitifully on the floor from pain and the sudden flood of memories, recalling what led him here. Harry pressed his head into his hands and curled into a ball, horrified by the recollection of his quick, heated encounter with Draco in the Chamber of Secrets. He had been so wound up, so tense and _wanton_ (he shuddered at the word) and Draco had taken him apart with astonishing ease. To have allowed – no, _encouraged –_ Draco to have done… _That_. In the Chamber of Secrets, in front of the gaping bust of Slytherin, a few meters from the rotting corpse of a _basilisk._ To have been left down there to face something he knew nothing about.

Harry shuddered and felt tears well in his eyes against his will. He was so bone-deep exhausted, so confused by his actions, and so completely and utterly embarrassed. Draco had looked barely affected – well, not as much as Harry had been. Harry didn't flinch from Kreacher as the elf finally made his way around the bed and merely curled up into a tighter ball on the old ebony floorboards. Harry focused on clearing his mind, retreating from the stomach cringing humiliation, not ready to face the world just yet.

"Masters Harry?" Kreacher asked, suddenly uncertain. The elf's weapon was lowered and then the wooden spoon dropped to the floor as he approached Harry hesitantly.

"I'm sorry, Kreacher," Harry whispered hollowly, half-hoping the elf would forgive him for whatever 'accepting a stake' meant.

Kreacher began to whine pitifully, pulling on his ears as his eyes shone with unshed tears. Harry looked up slowly to face the distressed elf and watched, wide eyed, as the elf exploded into sobs and launched himself at Harry. Harry quickly caught the elf and held him close, the pair laying on the floor. Harry opened his mouth to soothe the elf, to tell him everything would be okay – and felt the words stick in his throat. Harry felt hot tears begin to spill down his cheeks as he tried to speak and he held the elf a little closer as they both dissolved into sobs.

* * *

Once they had both calmed down, Harry was shoved into his ensuite bathroom and told to clean up. He stumbled into the bathroom on shaky legs and nearly toppled over upon coming face to face with a stranger in the mirror.

Harry realised with shock that he looked like he had gone through puberty in a day. He had grown a few inches and now was just a hair shorter than his male peers. His features had sharpened marginally, the soft roundness of his last remaining baby-fat face dissolving into sharp lines and aristocratic cheekbones. Dark bags underlined his eyes from hours of restless sleep and he looked pale and shaken from the last few days of stress. Harry's ears tingled slightly and he apprehensively lifted gently curled locks to look at vaguely pointed ears, face crumpling in despair as he titled his head to study both ears.

Harry realised he still looked rather effeminate for his tastes, but he was handsome in a roguish way. _Elven,_ his mind supplied. Harry sighed miserably and the mirror whistled in appreciation, making him scowl at the nosy artefact.

A grey swirl caught his attention at the base of his neck and he pulled the shirt down to expose a large rune carved into his flesh. It was about the size of his palm and a beautiful swirl of artistry.

"Oh, my!" The mirror finally crowed into the silent room, unable to hold back its inane chatter. "What a beautiful Claim!"

Harry wandlessly silenced the mirror and he shuddered with the implications, stumbling back against the wall and sliding to the floor of the bathroom. His mind numbed as he realised it was in the same place Draco had marked him not too long ago in _The Three Broomsticks_ , where he had sunk his teeth into in the Chamber of Secrets.

 _'Stake'_ whispered in his mind, echoing and reverberating around his skull. This was a fair bit more serious than he originally thought and he shuddered at the parallel of being tattooed by Draco as the Death Eaters were by Voldemort's Mark. He wished he could read the rune (his two weeks of tutoring not nearly sufficient enough to translate the embellished mark) but he knew Hermione would definitely be able to decipher the flourished lines.

Part of him wanted to push his magic into the rune, to see what made it tick and what it did, but Harry recalled the magical exhaustion caused by unravelling Dumbledore's curse and curled away from the thought, not ready to exhaust himself further.

Harry quickly disrobed and stepped into the shower, scrubbing himself down and washing the residual grime of the Chamber off his skin and scalp. His mind churned as he realised that he left the entrance open, hoping desperately that Myrtle was doing what she did best – scaring everyone and everything away from her haunt.

Harry braced his head against the stone wall of the shower, letting the hot water wash over him soothingly. His mind quietened for the first time since he awoke and he felt marginally better, inhaling the pluming steam deeply and relaxing as it cleared his clogged sinuses. His sore, tense muscles eased under the heat and he sighed, turning off the water and making quick work of drying himself off.

Harry avoided the clothes Kreacher had tailored for him a short while ago and pulled out a pair of Sirius' muggle jeans – the ones Kreacher scowled at and had tried to burn, only being saved by Harry's insistence that _nothing_ of Sirius' was to be damaged (the only exception being the pinup posters in his room). Harry hopped as he pulled the tight fabric over his legs, amazed that Sirius would have ever fit into them as he was still a fair bit smaller than his broad, tall godfather. Harry dressed in the only other shirt Kreacher hadn't tailored yet, a soft silk shirt that was easily tucked into the jeans despite the fitted waistline.

Harry looked at himself in the mirror, curious of what Draco saw in him. Harry realised he did look rather handsome, the flowing cream shirt billowing around the wrists of his sleeves and the tight black jeans hugging his form. Harry had never really liked his appearance before, but it did make him smile slightly now.

He appeared exactly how he once would have imagined a magician would look as a child. Wavy, black hair, silvery green eyes, aristocratic features, clothes that looked right out of David Bowie's personal wardrobe and showed off a large grey tattoo on the base of his neck and shoulder, and a wand tucked over his slightly pointed ear like a teacher might keep a pencil. He huffed a laugh, wondering what he would have done if anyone told him what his life would be like now just four months ago, let alone when he was little.

Harry recalled how Dudley said he wished he could do magic and he smiled a little sadly, knowing his cousin would never be anything more than a muggle. Harry resolved that the next time he contacted his cousin to remind him to return the Gryffindor Quidditch Badge ( _and isn't that a laugh,_ he thought humorously), he decided he would invite his cousin to join him to Diagon Alley. Even his strange muggle cousin seemed to understand the beauty of magic, despite his Aunt and Uncle's attempt to beat any appreciation of 'the novelty and odd' out of them as children.

Harry shook himself out of his reverie and hunted around for some shoes, his old ones destroyed by the water and silt of the Chamber. Nothing Sirius owned could be worn and Harry didn't feel like ruining his godfather's (admittedly ghastly) shoe collection by trying to resize them to fit his feet. Harry pursed his lips and recalled that Regulus might have something closer to his size, the photographs of the man showing a slighter, more delicate version of Sirius.

Harry wandered into hallway and slowly opened the door to Regulus' room. The room lay awash in shadows, the thick air permeated with suspended dust and early morning, pre-sunrise light shone through the swirling particles from a large window pane. The room smelt of incense and traces of black magic, a long-lost memory of the boy who once lived here. Harry tiptoed through the room, unsure of what kinds of spells entrapped the room, and opened the closet door.

Regulus' wardrobe was the exact opposite of Sirius'. Where Sirius had gleaming leather motorcycle gear and obscene purple sequined dancing jackets, Regulus had well-tailored duffle coats and heavy robes with protective runes embroidered into the seams. The expensive fabric was smooth under Harry's touch and he decided that Regulus' conservative wardrobe was much closer to his style than his godfather's flamboyant taste. Harry rustled through the closet, grateful for the charms warding off moths as the clothes were mostly untouched and lovingly cared for. He pulled out a couple shirts, slacks and jackets, deciding to abscond with the clothes of his god-uncle.

Harry returned to his bedroom and stuffed his newly acquired wardrobe in a bag, ready to return to Hogwarts. He cringed at the thought of running into Draco in the hallway, unsure of what the blond would do. Especially considering his total freak out the last time Harry disappeared without word.

Kreacher summoned him to the kitchens for a light breakfast and promptly burst into tears as Harry walked into the kitchens in one of Regulus' coats.

"Yous be looking so much likes Masters Regulus!" The elf wailed against his leg, gripping the jeans and running his long, dripping nose on the denim. "Those being Masters Regulus' shoes and jackets!"

Harry frowned and crouched down to the elf's line of sight. "Is it alright if I wear them? They're much closer to my size now that I've apparently gone through puberty," he sighed.

"Oh, yes, Masters Harry!" The elf sobbed, holding Harry's hand and dragging him to the kitchen table.

Harry sat down to his breakfast with another long, drawn out sigh. Apparently Kreacher was an elf of extreme emotion, though it didn't surprise him. The elf was either beating him with a spoon or crooning while he stroked Harry's leg. It was exhausting to keep up with the elf's rollercoaster of emotions, but Harry smiled fondly at the elf for his bizarre antics. He patted Kreacher's head softly and turned to the food, despite his lack of appetite.

"What's the plan for today?" Harry asked slowly, once the last of his oatmeal was gone and most of his fruit had been consumed.

Kreacher frowned over his knitting, pursing his lips in thought. "Masters Harry be needing an Aide, nows more than evers," the elf muttered thoughtfully. "Masters Harrys be needing Amelie."

Harry blinked in surprise. "Governess Amelie?" He clarified, confused.

Kreacher nodded firmly at him, nose upturned as he continued. "Masters Harry be needing knowledge through the courtship."

Harry's eyebrows drew together in concern at the statement, but he waved if off as another one of Kreacher's confusingly antiquated terms.

"Should I call her today?" Harry asked, casting a silent _tempus_ and noting that it was barely six in the morning.

Kreacher nodded once more, firm and brooking no room for argument. Harry sighed, obeying his elf and standing. He summoned his bag from his bedroom (after trying to wash the dishes and getting a painful slap on the wrist for his efforts) and held out his hand to the little elf.

"We'll need to return to Hogwarts first; I have a few things I need to do urgently," Harry stated, lips pursing at the thought of the Chamber of Secrets. Kreacher nodded diligently, collecting a few items for Harry's return, and they apparated back to Hogwarts with an earsplitting _crack!_

* * *

The moment they popped into existence in the Entrance Hall, Harry took off to close the Chamber of Secrets. He spoke briefly with Myrtle, who assured him that she scared off any students who tried to come into the bathroom. Harry shuddered at the thought of some tiny Hufflepuff firstie falling in and wandering the ominous underground lair of Salazar Slytherin. He had ducked into the Chamber for a few minutes to retrieve a basilisk fang (which turned out to be much harder than he originally thought) and called Kreacher, asking his elf to hide the fang at home until he could arrange a time to destroy the horcruxes.

After escaping from Moaning Myrtle's endless chattering, he decided to call his governess immediately. He paced in front of the Room of Requirement once more, thinking firmly " _I need to make a floo call"_. A small door appeared to his relief and Harry ducked inside.

The room was fashioned into a small typical wizarding study with an enormous fireplace and a mat for kneeling. He ignored the a jam jar of bright green powder sitting innocently on the edge of a desk and tossed a small satchel he brought from Grimmauld Place into the flickering embers. The fire roared and turned a poisonous green, the turbulent flames licking the blackened stone walls with glee.

Harry leaned into the flames and barked, "Number Nine, Eighty-Three Groves Lane, Diagon Alley."

The flames sparkled agreeably and Harry closed his eyes to block out the nauseating swirl of passing fireplaces. The fire finally settled on a large, baroque era entrance hall and Harry hollered out, "Governess Amelie!"

A large crashing was heard in the distance and Harry winced in empathy. A willowy blonde spun around the corner, socks sliding on the marble floor, hair piled in a messy bun on her head and dressing gown askew. She looked exactly opposite of her usual immaculate self.

"Harry?" She gasped, leaning down to the fireplace. "What on earth are you doing? Are you alright?"

Harry smiled at her softly. This woman always reminded him of a piece of Sirius he never saw and he wished his godfather had lived long enough to introduce her to him.

"Not really, Amelie. Would you mind coming through?" He asked politely and she reared back. "I promise no one is one this side; don't go and do your make-up," he teased lightly. She scowled in reply and shooed him out of the way.

Amelie came spinning through the fireplace, though she walked out with the practiced ease of a witch raised by floo travel. She dusted off the remaining soot on her gown and rounded on Harry with a ferocious glint in her eye.

"Before we go into detail, young man," she scowled, pointing a long nail at him threateningly. "Why don't we start on the fact that you're _Harry Potter,_ hm?"

Harry sighed and sat down heavily on a small chair, grateful that the room had supplied two. He gestured for her to sit as well and she did so primly, elegant as ever despite her wild appearance.

"Honestly, I just wanted a summer off. From being me, I guess," Harry mumbled, looking down at his shoes.

Amelie sighed and reached forward, clasping his hands in a warm embrace. "Yes, yes, fine," she grumbled. "You're off the hook this time. Now, what about this nonsense that couldn't wait until a reasonable hour?"

Harry huffed a laugh at her uppity tone and then launched into the story of Draco Malfoy, their immediate (and violent) attraction to one another, and showed off his new grey tattoo at the base of his neck.

"And, well, that's it," Harry ended rather anti-climatically, mouth twisted in thought.

Amelie gaped at him in shock. "You stupid idiot," she barked suddenly, whacking him upside the head. "You should have contacted me _immediately!_ Not _after_ you got engaged to a Death Eater!"

"En- _engaged_?" Harry stuttered, growing ashen.

"Yes, you – you – ooh!" She fumed, standing and pacing the study in agitation. "What is this dingy office anyway?" She barked. "We'll need something bigger to discuss this lest I decide to beat the last remaining brain cells out of your empty head!"

At her announcement, the room expanded exponentially and turned into a large library, enormous bookshelves lining the wood panelled walls and filling with endless tomes. Several candle chandeliers grew out of the ceiling to shed light on the cavernous athenaeum, casting flickering shadows on the inhabitants of the room. All fury left Amelie in a heartbeat as she stood frozen in the centre of the room, shocked by the sudden display of magic.

"Ah, yes," Harry interrupted her wordless gaping. "We're also in the Room of Requirement. Be careful what you wish for, and all that."

Amelie turned to him slowly. "You are quite possibly the strangest boy I know," she whispered seriously, expression harried.

Harry chuckled and stood, walking around the room to touch the ancient, dusty books and appreciate their strange titles. "Tell me about it," he quipped, throwing a cheeky smile at his governess. "Now, big questions first – will you agree to being my Aide? Also, what is an Aide?"

Amelie laughed and gestured for him to sit down, anger long gone and now going into full teaching mode. "I have two hours before my first lesson. Sit. This is going to take a while to explain."

Harry obeyed, eyes growing impossibly wide as she taught him his first lesson of _Magical Creatures and Their Mates_.


	18. Chapter 18: My Beloved Monster (And Me)

_Took a lot of inspiration by The Eel's 'My Beloved Monster' for this chapter. I have caught up posting with my writing, so updates from now on should be more reasonable (every week or so). Hope you enjoy :)  
_

* * *

Harry obeyed, eyes growing impossibly wide as she taught him his first lesson of _Magical Creatures and Their Mates_.

* * *

 **Chapter 18: My Beloved Monster (And Me)**

"So," Harry stated queasily. "What you're saying is: I've accepted a marriage proposal from Heir Malfoy and basically that's it – no kneeling, no rings… Just… Engaged."

Amelie laughed at his downcast expression, misinterpreting his reaction. "Well, you're not exactly there yet according to British Wizardry Law, seeing as they don't count Claimings or Stakes as legal ceremonies. Besides, most people will expect you to hold a ceremony to officiate it. You still can, if you want," she cooed at the downtrodden boy.

Harry looked up at her with such horror that she waved her hands and quickly said, "Or not! Whatever suits you!"

Harry buried his head in his hands and moaned.

"Well, don't be such a big baby about it," Amelie huffed. "At least you two seem to like each other."

Harry looked up and gaped. "Are you serious? That's all you've got to say?" He asked, astonished.

Amelie rolled her eyes, hands on her hips defiantly. "I'm not the one getting off with my classmates in secret, underground lairs, now am I?" She snapped, though humour belied her tone.

Harry blushed darkly at the reminder, beyond mortified, and he felt his stomach twist painfully at the memory.

"Besides," Amelie continued, unaware of his shame. "This is basically the plot line of every girl's hidden-under-the-mattress paperback. A beautiful boy and his dark, dangerous nemeses collide, untameable attraction spurs them into passionate embrace and it's their love that keeps them together." She fanned herself with a hand dramatically and swooned in mockery.

Harry dry retched and a stab of horror shot up his spine. He could feel the beginnings of a panic attack looming in the back of his mind and the walls of the room seemed to leer closer and closer with each short breath.

"Harry," Amelie whispered, kneeling to meet his eye level and placing warm hands on his shoulders. "It's alright, love," she soothed. "You don't have to go through with this if you don't want to. Mates have lived apart before. I was only teasing, you know?"

Harry nodded as he tried to comfort her, though he couldn't control the gasped sharp breaths his lungs inhaled nor the panic reaching a head. He wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned over, shuddering with each breath.

"It will pass – don't panic," Amelie added unhelpfully and Harry barely withheld rolling his eyes.

A vial of baby blue potion rolled across the floor and clinked against Harry's chair. Amelie looked down in surprise and picked up the bottle.

"Calming Draught," she stated wondrously. She looked to where the bottle came from and upon seeing no one, she laughed. "This room is incredible, Harry. Drink this," she urged, pressing the quickly uncorked bottle into his shaking hands.

Harry drank the potion slowly, spluttering slightly as his lungs inhaled a drop of the potion. He immediately calmed and relaxed into his chair, mind sedating under the influence of the draught.

"Don't – don't tease me, please," Harry whispered as he looked up at the hanging candle chandeliers.

Amelie snorted. "Such dramatics," she muttered, though she grabbed him firmly in a hug and held him tightly. "You're so much like Sirius sometimes that I forget that you're not actually his son. Well, not raised by him."

Harry was startled into laughing as her words warmed his soul and grounded his mind. He knew he had a tendency to sink into his angst as his godfather did, but Amelie's flippant attitude often pulled him from his sorrows with ease. He wondered if she had the same effect on Sirius.

"So, lets… Go over," Harry began slowly. "What I learned."

"That would be a good idea," Amelie sighed, sitting down. "Heir Malfoy initiated a claiming, you accepted, which is indicated by the rune on your shoulder – or acceptance of his Stake. The Stake sped up your inheritance, which is why you fully transitioned. Acceptance of the Stake is through intent, so this cannot be mistaken. You will continually need to be closer with Heir Malfoy, thriving on touch and closeness, until such time the Stake is completed," Amelie stated clinically, watching Harry as she gauged his reactions lest he fall into another attack.

"Completion of the Stake is… Sex," Harry choked out, feeling a flush rising on his neck.

"Yes, good," Amelie approved. "If you choose to back out now, it will be difficult. But I have a feeling you've been through worse," she stated softly.

Harry smiled at her warmly. "Yeah," Harry answered softly, but did not elaborate.

"Don't panic, Harry. I'll be available anytime, even in lessons. And be careful with these Calming Draughts," Amelie added, frowning in thought. "You ideally shouldn't be mixing such sedatives with your pain medications."

"What medications?" Harry asked, surprised.

Amelie spluttered. "The – the medications for your full inheritance! Are you actually telling me that you didn't take any sedatives to help you transition? Aren't you in pain right now?" She asked, astonished.

Harry shrugged uncommittedly, looking down.

"You stubborn boy," Amelie breathed. "Most people liken the transition of full inheritance to the same pain level as childbirth. How are you not in agony?"

Harry sighed. "Like you say," he answered softly. "I've been through worse."

Amelie stared at him, eyebrows drawn together and expression deeply distressed by his words. "You must go to the Hospital Wing after our meeting. You will need to take some muscle relaxants, lest you overstrain yourself and shred a ligament; your body is going to need to settle for the next few days. Especially if you plan on playing Quidditch this year," she huffed.

Harry's eyes widened at her words and he nodded frantically, promising wholeheartedly to see Madam Pomfrey immediately as he wasn't willing to give up Quidditch. Especially considering McGonagall had advised him a few days prior that his Firebolt was found in Umbridge's confiscated contraband in a hidden warded room of her office and tryouts were Saturday morning.

"Well," Amelie stood quickly. "All that is left is to arrange a Chaperone. I will not be able to accompany you at all times. In fact, I have to leave in a few minutes if I plan to make my next appointment."

"Aide is for knowledge and a Chaperone is for chastity," Harry tested, checking if he had learned correctly.

"Yes," Amelie confirmed firmly. "You will need me to learn. An appropriate Chaperone must be appointed."

Harry grinned suddenly, a smile that brightened his expression with its vicious glee. Amelie looked at him, alarmed.

"I know exactly who my Chaperone is going to be," Harry whispered, suddenly reeling with the plethora of possibilities to make Draco Malfoy's life a living hell.

* * *

Kreacher wailed through his tears, griping Harry's leg fervently and hugging the thigh so tightly he felt his calf begin to numb.

"Kreacher, you don't have to if you don't want to – you know that, right?" Harry asked unsurely.

"M-masters H-Harry," hiccupped the elf. "You's be wanting _me's_ to be the Ch-Chaperones!" The elf sobbed louder, his pointy noise clogged and making his voice even nasaler.

"Yes," Harry repeated hesitantly, suddenly regretting everything. "It that's alright with you."

The elf merely wailed louder.

* * *

Harry decided to take Amelie's suggestion seriously and made his way to the Hospital Wing. He was short on time, the hour shifting closer to eight am and the halls full of the younger years dashing around.

Madam Pomfrey seemed unsurprised to see him and quickly shooed him onto the nearest cot to sit while she prepared pain potions. She approached him and, in uncharacteristic informality, sat on the cot by his side.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," the woman tutted softly, eyes glazed and patting his hand softly. "You're so young."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "Is everything alright?" He asked curiously.

"You have inherited James and Sirius' penchant for mischief," Pomfrey sighed solemnly, making Harry laugh a little disbelievingly at her dry joke. "And their dormant creature inheritance, which seems to be the way of things now. Two full inheritances at the same time; my old heart isn't up to the excitement of these times," Pomfrey muttered. "I haven't had this much trouble since William Weasley graced these halls."

Harry looked up in surprise. "Bill?" He asked, recalling Draco's reaction to the name.

"Oh, yes," Pomfrey chuckled. "The boy inherited his great grandmother's seelie genes. Poor boy was beside himself when he found out. I don't think he has told his family, even to this day. Didn't want to upset his mother, you see. I was his Aide for the transition, which was an honour but very difficult work. We keep in touch often. If I understand, he's found himself a lovely French girl – you may recall her from the Triwizard Tournament. Fleur, I believe," Pomfrey trailed off, looking at the sun beams shining through the ward windows. "You seem to be handling this well, child, despite the endless nonsense you're constantly thrown into," she sighed sadly, looking distressed by his poor luck.

"How… How did you know?" Harry asked, a little shaken by her candour, perceptiveness, and lack of horror at his new creature status.

"Harry, being an Aide helped me see the warning signs. Especially that mark on your neck, there," she answered sagely while looking at the top of the rune over his duffle coat. "Just know that you are not trapped; you will be supported whether you decide to continue or pull out. I am sure you already have an Aide, but if you ever require an ear to listen to you or the comfort of a presence, I will be here."

Harry watched Madam Pomfrey through his eyelashes, astonished by her casual and genuine demeanour. He supposed he had grown up significantly in the past six months and it amazed him endlessly how differently people treated him now. Harry smiled at her, placing his hand over hers in thanks and they sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying the warmth of the sun on their backs.

* * *

Harry's last loose end was Draco Malfoy. And what a frayed, messy knot that was. After his discussion with Pomfrey, Harry decided to come out loud and proud, ignoring all potential fall out with his head buried firmly in the sand in typical Marauder fashion. Blow things up first, ask questions later. Harry smiled brightly at the thought. Subtlety was not his specialty, anyway.

He walked into the Gryffindor commons at two minutes to eight in the morning, thankful that classes were to begin for the younger years at eight o'clock and nine for the NEWT students. He dropped gracelessly into a large sofa, stretching comfortably on the plush upholstery. Hermione began to walk down the stairs of the girl's dorm, her nose firmly stuck in a rather ancient looking tome and Harry smiled upon seeing his oldest friend.

"'Mione!" He called out, waving her over.

Hermione jerked her head out of the tome and practically fell over herself running down the rest of the stairs, the book quickly tucked into her bag.

"Harry! Where in Merlin's name have you been?" She gasped, finally reaching his side.

"Long story," Harry sighed, patting the seat next to him. She immediately sat down and he briefed her on the tale, showing off his rune. "Can you tell me what it means?" He asked, curiously. "My governess Amelie couldn't decipher it – says she didn't graduate to NEWT Runes."

Hermione stared at the rune for a few minutes, lips pursed in thought and mind whirring so hard Harry was sure he could see steam coming out of her ears.

"I think… I think it has something to do with the Malfoy Crest. Though I wouldn't be surprised if the Malfoy Crest was fashioned after their family's mating insignia. That would be classic Malfoy arrogance," she huffed a little bitterly, leaning back thoughtfully. "I'm pretty sure it is a Venetian rune of rebirth; it doesn't look like anything we've studied on the Germanic side. It's very embellished though and obviously very ancient. It would be something I'll need to study and research a bit more," Hermione muttered.

Harry smiled gratefully at her words and settled back into the sofa, allowing the soft silk collar of the shirt stay open and display his new tattoo with little regard to whom may walk by.

"Don't you want to cover that up?" Hermione asked, worriedly glancing around as the other sixth and seventh years wandered into the commons from breakfast.

"No, not really," Harry responded innocently, smiling at her disarmingly.

Hermione pursed her lips at him once more, eyes narrowing in thought. Just as she opened her mouth to question his behaviour, Parvati screamed. It was a blood curdling, horrible sound and every student in the commons whipped around to face the stunned girl.

" _Harry_ ," Parvati breathed, pinning him with a wide-eyed stare.

"And here we go," Harry whispered at Hermione, winking.

* * *

By the time class had started, word had spread like wildfire that Harry James Potter-Black, newly anointed 'Chosen One' by wizarding press, was engaged. He had accepted the Stake of a magical creature, an unknown suitor roaming the halls of Hogwarts, and proudly showed off his new claiming rune. Girls swooned, boys gaped, and Hermione scowled.

"Great, Harry. Just _great_ ," Hermione hissed as they walked into double Potions. Harry was grateful that it was Friday as he had missed Thursday's classes and could use the weekend to catch up. Harry threw her a smile, rune now covered by his high collared uniform robes and a scarf to ward off the chill of the dungeons.

"We've finally gotten most of Hogwarts to shut their mouths and you go fuelling the flames. _Again!"_ Hermione bit out, looking harried and frustrated. "Couldn't we just have _one year?"_ She bemoaned once more.

Harry laughed at her fury and sat down on the Gryffindor side of the room, carefully sitting a couple rows ahead of a very pale faced Ron as had become the custom since their blowout. He took out parchment, ink and a quill, casually sharpening the writing instrument with a small quill knife. Hermione pulled out her books and studiously ignored him, staring straight ahead with a pinched expression and muttering incoherently.

Harry waited with bated breath as the source of his frustrations walked into the classroom. As he had the first day of class, Harry watched Draco enter through the door by studying the reflection of the bell jars in the front of the room and pointedly pretended to be ignorant of his presence. A burst of pleasure sparkled in the back of Harry's mind, making him roll his eyes at his creature's behaviour. He swore that the elf in him was a bloody romantic, constantly mooning over Draco while Harry could barely stand being next to him. _Well, by 'barely stand'_ … He thought and then promptly blushed. Harry avoided all eye contact with the Slytherin side of the room, ignoring the heated stare he could feel from Draco's corner of the room.

Slughorn bustled into the room loudly a few minutes after class began. _In standard Slug-esque fashion_ , Harry thought with a scowl. Harry relaxed in his chair, leaning back and sprawling his legs out in front of him as the portly Potions Master approached him.

"Harry, m'boy!" Slughorn preened, leaning over him with greedily glittering eyes. "I have heard the most fascinating tale regarding you over breakfast. Would you care to stay after class?" The man practically salivated over Harry and he realised with a start that having a claimed magical creature such as himself would be a pretty trophy on Slughorn's mantel, especially considering the last full magical inheritance in Hogwarts (besides Bill Weasley, who wasn't in Hogwarts during Slughorn's tenure) was close to a hundred years ago. He suppressed a shudder and smiled bleakly at the professor.

"Of course, sir," Harry answered coolly. "Though I've also heard the _most fascinating tales_ about Everlasting Elixirs – would you be willing to share your _expansive_ knowledge with the class?"

Slughorn chortled, completely ignorant of Harry's chilling tone, and agreed affably. "Oh, yes! Quite right." He wobbled up to the front of the class and began their lesson with much pomp and circumstance.

* * *

After the lesson, which was filled with strained moments of ignoring Draco to Harry's best ability (despite that irresistible smell of musk wafting over to his side of the room, which nearly had Harry twitching in consternation), Harry remained in the classroom after shooing off a nervous, fluttering Hermione.

His conversation with Slughorn went exactly as expected. _M'boy, you really must attend my little Christmas get-together – Ambrosius Flume will be there, you see, and Barnabas Cuffe, who is extraordinarily interested in meeting you in person, as you must understand. You really must bring along Ms. Granger as well, and of course you are both invited to bring a guest each!_

Harry listened with hooded eyes as the man desperately fished, hoping Harry would reveal his suitor and promise to bring him to the next Slug Club meeting. Harry merely smiled politely, nodded here and there, and kept his lips firmly sealed beyond the occasional _Of course, professor._

Once Slughorn seemed confident that he had convinced Harry to attend, he bid himself adieu (with a rather lingering hand on his arm, to Harry's shuddering disgust) and tootled out of the room with a flourish.

Harry groaned and placed his head in his hands, already exhausted with the day's events. And it was not even eleven in the morning. Harry was already late to his next class but figured it would do him good to hide in the classroom until lunch and catch up with Hermione in the Great Hall after he collected his thoughts.

The door to the classroom opened with a bang and Harry looked up in surprise, knowing that another class wasn't to begin for another couple of hours in the potions room. To his despair, a very pale, shaken Ronald Weasley stood in the doorway.

"Harry," Ron stated, looking on the verge of a mental breakdown.

"Seriously, Ron, I'm not in the mood. Let's do this another time," Harry answered tiredly, waving his hand at the ginger in dismissal.

"No, you need to listen to me," Ron barked, marching further into the room. Though he didn't close the door behind him, Harry felt cornered in the suddenly claustrophobic classroom.

"Actually, I don't," Harry stated firmly. "I have nothing to say to you nor do I wish to hear anything from you. I'm fucking tired, I'm over listening to your apologies, and I'm two minutes away from cursing you to hell and high water. _Get_ _out_ _of my way_ ," he emphasised coldly, raising his wand to Ron's chest as the boy neared. Though he didn't need a wand to fight Ron, he knew that the boy would be intimidated just by the action alone.

Ron paled further, as predicted, but astoundingly didn't move.

"It was your fault!" Ron burst out, the scathing words tumbling from his mouth in a flood of emotion and stepping even closer to Harry's outstretched wand. "You didn't tell me that you didn't shag her, Harry! How was I supposed to know?! Everyone, _everyone,_ was saying that you did it and you didn't say _anything,_ Harry! You know what she means to me! And now you've gone and gotten yourself mated to some bloke – when the hell were you going to tell me about that?! You just _let me think that_ –"

"You're a fucking idiot, Weasley," a voice ruthlessly cut through Ron's words from the open doorway. Both boys turned to the entrance in surprise and Ron gaped at Draco, who leaned carelessly against the doorframe, holding his wand loosely in his hand.

"What the fuck do you know?" Ron roared, turning fully towards Draco with fury in his eyes. He raised his wand and Harry blanched, feeling pure, unadulterated black magic swelling in the redhead's quivering frame. Ron raised his wand and started to scream, " _Sect_ -"

Everything slowed to molasses in Harry's eyes. He watched Draco's eyes widen marginally at Ron's words though his mask of indifference was mostly in place. Draco began to raise his wand in defence, but Harry could see that the blond hadn't anticipated the attack and couldn't possibly erect a shield fast enough.

Blood rushed through Harry's ears in terror as the scene unfolded before him in slow motion. Before he knew what he was doing, Harry launched across the room in impossible strength and speed, tackling Ron as he pronounced the syllables of the dark spell. As the boys fell, Ron finally finished the spell with a startled " _pra!_ " and the white beam of light expelled from the boy's wand was knocked off course, smashing into a desk and exploding it into splinters.

Harry felt the wood chips spray in his face and his mind melted into single-minded hatred, a deep, instinctual loathing that filled his being and spread white heat into his limbs. The creature in him howled with fury alongside his rage and he flipped Ron over onto his back, hands pinning Ron's wrists with an ironclad grip, lips peeled back to display horrifically sharpened teeth and eyes sparkling with cruel intent. He leaned forward and growled, a deep, horrible sound that reverberated around the room and a burst of satisfaction erupted in his chest upon seeing Ron's wholehearted terror at his display.

Harry saw himself through pinpoint pupils reflected in Ron's brown eyes, a truly terrifying monster of lore glittering back at him. Instead of fearing himself, Harry felt vindictive pleasure and growled even deeper, pressed his face even closer, dug sharp nails into Ron's trembling arms.

Harry was vaguely aware of another presence entering their sphere, of a dark form roaring words and trying to gain his attention. Harry didn't care – he was too busy trying to figure out which limb to rip off this _mongrel_ first for threatening Draco. _Draco_ , Harry's mind whispered in terrified reverence, and his blood boiled furiously at the thought of this _gnat_ trying to take Draco away from him.

"Harry," a familiar voice whispered in his ear. Harry calmed marginally, retracting exposed teeth, and turned his face to Draco who crouched next to the pair. "Come here, sweetheart," he murmured, holding out his hands.

Harry struggled to let Ron go, drums pounding loudly in his ears and blood singing his veins, chanting over and over to shred the redhead apart.

"It's okay, Harry," Draco murmured, palms outstretched as he sat on his haunches. "Severus will take care of him for us."

Harry didn't understand what that meant, but he understood somehow through those words that Ron was going to be punished.

Harry trusted Draco's soothing platitude and retracted his claws from Ron's bleeding wrists, placing a shaking hand in a warm, soft palm. He was immediately pulled up as Draco stood and strong arms wrapped around his waist and moved him gently away from his prey. Harry gripped the lapels of Draco's robes, pulling him closer and burying his face in the sweet, musky smell of Draco. He felt a soft keen of pain pulled out of his chest as he clung to the blond, the world melting around him into white noise.

"But – but – he!" Harry heard Ron stutter behind him. Harry immediately bristled, ready to turn around and finish the twat once and for all, when a calloused finger brushed under his chin and lifted his face. The blond smiled softly down at him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Harry relaxed, mind bubbling with pleasure.

"You foolish, stupid, horrible, moronic _boy!"_ A voice cut through the classroom and Harry's eyes snapped open. He felt his mind shutter and empty in startling clarity, the white noise and drum beat dissipating as he came back to himself. Harry pushed away from Draco in surprise, spinning around and gaping at the sight of a terrified Ron being held by the cuff of his collar by an enraged Snape. Blood dripped from Ron's forearms and the redhead babbled as he tried to defend himself.

"He – he tried to _kill_ me, Professor! You saw!" Ron desperately pleaded, looking paler by the second.

"What I _saw,_ Weasley, was an imbecilic piece of _below average amoebic scum_ trying to kill my godson!" Snape roared back, dark magic boiling on the surface of his fingertips. "And his mate defending him, as he has every right to do when faced with an assassination attempt!"

" _Mate?"_ Ron wailed in incomprehension as he was dragged to the door.

Harry shuddered and arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him against comforting warmth. Lips hovered by his ears as Draco whispered into his ear, "It's okay, Harry. I've got you."

Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to ground himself and subconsciously leaning against the warm, firm chest behind him. He felt himself quiver as his body retreated from its aggressive transition, bloody nails withdrawing and wickedly sharp canines slowly dissolving into normal, human teeth. He was horrified that Snape had seen him this way, had watched Draco stop him from killing his supposed best friend and then _kiss his godson_ in public.

Harry turned to Draco slowly, who rested comfortably against a desk in a posture of complete relaxation and confidence. He realised he was nestled between the blond's legs, protected by the larger man's frame. He looked up through dark eyelashes at the tender expression in Draco's eyes despite the blond's blank expression and felt his chest constrict, his heart skipping a beat.

Harry felt sickened by the entire experience and his body ached, bone-tired. All he wanted was to kidnap Draco, crawl into bed and cuddle the idiot until he fell asleep, knowing that the blond was safe between his arms. Harry closed his eyes at the thought and nearly died in shame at a sudden realisation, an idea that struck left him thunderstruck.

He was in love with Draco Malfoy.

A pleased purr exploded at the back of his mind in agreeance and Harry quickly stamped down on the elfish instincts thrumming through his veins with vengeance.

Snape suddenly cringed in the doorway and let go of Ron as if burnt, who took the opportunity to make a run for it. Draco reacted in kind, wrists griping Harry's hips tightly as his face crumpled in pain. Harry inhaled sharply through his nose. _The Mark_ , his mind whispered. Harry felt his animalistic side resurface in the face of Draco's agony, his strained nerves still tense and furious from Ron's attack.

Harry ripped Draco's hand from his side, his mind once more falling into instinct and his vision tunnelling. He ripped Draco's shirt off at the forearm and ignored the blond desperately trying to hide the angry, pulsing obsidian tattoo writhing on his flesh. Harry's nostrils flared as his mind roared possessively.

Harry held Draco's arm firmly as his magic flared and descended on the mark, diving into the black magic and weaving its way through layer after layer of cursed magic. He brutally untangled and thrashed his magic through the tangled mess, unweaving and unknotting with dedicated ruthlessness.

Draco released a cry of pain and Harry eased his savage attack, carefully pulling back and continued slower, softer. The magic insolently throbbed against him angrily, but Harry batted away the magic with impatient disgust. Harry leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Draco's mouth, distracting the blond from his attempt to strip his mate from another's claim.

At last, Harry felt the last tendril of magic snap under his manipulations and Harry gasped in exhaustion against Draco's mouth, his mind filling with unbridled pleasure. Then Harry's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed against the blond.


	19. Chapter 19: Tempest In A Teapot

_At last, Harry felt the last tendril of magic snap under his manipulations and Harry gasped in exhaustion against Draco's mouth, his mind filling with unbridled pleasure. Then Harry's eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed against the blond._

* * *

 **Chapter 19: Tempest In A Teapot**

Harry awoke in the Hospital Wing, feeling more rested than he had in a week. He stretched and rolled onto his side, casting a quick _tempus_ and groaning as he realised it was a quarter to eight in the evening. He had once again missed an entire day of classes and seemed to have caused more trouble than ever.

Despite the undoubtedly enormous fall out about to occur from Ron discovering his… _Affair_ with Draco, Harry smiled secretly. Harry knew that Ron's expression of terror, of cowed horror, was going to be a favourite memory for the next few years. _Probably could use it for my Patronus_ , he thought smugly. But a small bubble of irritation began to swell in his chest, the frustration born of Draco's sneaky behaviour – of trapping him like this without telling him _anything_. He finally felt the weight of the situation ( _defending Draco, turning into a monster against his will, engagement – at sixteen_ ) strike him like a falling anvil and he groaned, running a rough hand through his hair.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry turned over on the bed quickly and started in surprise upon seeing Dumbledore sitting on a bench of the Hospital Wing.

"Hello, Professor," Harry answered evenly. "Fine evening."

"Indeed, m'boy. I believe it may be a good idea to speak in my office, if you are feeling well enough," Dumbledore requested gently, standing to his feet as the embroidered daffodil on his blue robes twirled delightfully.

Harry nodded his head and carefully shifted himself to place two feet on the cool stone floor. He was grateful that Madam Pomfrey hadn't stripped him of his clothing other than to remove his outer robes and he pulled on the school uniform quickly. Once his shoes were tied neatly, he stood and gestured for Dumbledore to lead the way.

They walked in silence for most of the way, Dumbledore asking rather tame questions about the progress of his classes and Harry answering distractedly in return, attention leagues away from their small talk. At last they stood at the top of the stair landing and Harry blanched as he heard two voices arguing inaudibly on the other side of the door.

"After you, Harry," Dumbledore encouraged, peering at the boy over half-moon spectacles.

Harry sighed and led the way into the office, stopping just past the doorway in surprise as his eyes fell on a slumped Draco in a chair against a wall while Snape paced the room furiously. Draco stood quickly as Harry walked in and crossed the room in a few strides, pulling him into a fierce embrace. Harry breathed in the smell of his robes and felt his eyes close in pleasure, but then the past few days' events flooded Harry's mind and he pushed the blond, hard.

"Back off, Malfoy," Harry snapped, crossing his arms across his chest. Draco pursed his lips at him, eyes narrowing as his pupils dilated dangerously. Draco grabbed Harry harshly, holding Harry close to his chest with an ironclad grip despite the smaller man's struggles.

"That's enough. We don't have all night," Snape snapped. "Sit down. Both of you."

Draco seemed undisturbed by Snape's irritation and tilted his head to run his nose over the top of Harry's rune. Harry felt his stomach squirm, part of him wanting to melt into the warm chest but a much stronger, more stubborn part insisting he stomp on Draco's foot and make a run for it.

" _Sit. Down_ ," Snape hissed once more and Draco finally let go bitterly, slinking back to his chair against the wall. Harry watched Draco collapse into the seat his peripheral vision as he sat on the edge of a chair directly in front of Dumbledore's desk.

"Ah, thank you everyone for agreeing to meet in my office," Dumbledore began jovially, as if blissfully unaware of the tension in the room. "It seems that our Heir Potter-Black here has discovered a way to remove Tom's _Dark Mark_ , which is fairly concerning at this stage of our plans, seeing as – "

"The Dark Lord will know," Snape seethed, furiously interrupting Dumbledore's speech and turning on Harry. "The Dark Lord will know of his treason and will have Draco murdered. You arrogant little – "

"He won't," Harry interrupted dismissively, tiring of the conversation already and deciding it was time to pour a little more fuel on the fire. "It's soul magic."

"Of course, it is, you little snot," Snape roared. "And despite the fact he's an evil bastard, the Dark Lord still has a – " Snape cut himself off, sallow expression freezing mid-sentance.

"Harry," Dumbledore warned deeply, the twinkle in his eye immediately extinguishing. "I did not think I needed to remind you to not speak nor hint of this."

Harry's lips twitched in a poorly hidden smile as Snape stared at him in horror. The cogs in Snape's greasy head could be seen turning as he worked out the concept of Voldemort creating horcruxes. Harry wasn't even sure if Snape would have understood the hint, but it appeared the Potions Master was well educated in the field of black magic.

"He's testing me," Snape whispered icily, not breaking eye contact with the smug boy. Harry felt his occlumency shields pressed into and he focused on sealing them tightly, not wanting Snape rattling around in his head anymore and sneering at the man's blatant attempt. "Wants to see if I will turn and tell the Dark Lord, pinning me as a traitor. And as the Dark Lord looks to secure his secret, Potter will follow behind."

"Or perhaps I knew you'd figure that out and wouldn't tell Voldemort," Harry replied flippantly, stretching his legs out and leaning back in his chair. "Either or, I win."

"Those are hardly the only two options," Snape retorted darkly, black eyes glittering in threat. Harry shrugged nonchalantly.

"What are you talking about?" Draco asked suspiciously from the other side of the office.

"Sucks being the one out of the know, doesn't it?" Harry snapped coldly, shooting a pointed stare over his shoulder at the slumped blond.

Draco pursed his lips angrily and looked away.

"Thank you," Draco whispered into the eclectically decorated office. The occupants stopped moving in surprise and turned to face the ashen, blond boy-turned-man. "Really, thank you, Harry," he stressed, looking down at his hands and tattoo-free forearms, which were bare for the first time since fifth year. The soft flesh of his left forearm appeared slightly melted and shiny, as if he had received a large burn, but there was no trace of black design nor curse on the pale skin.

"Yes, well, we'll have to figure out the logistics of this," Snape scowled. "You had intended to be a spy, though now that's no longer an option."

Harry looked at Draco in surprise, reeling with the announcement, but Draco kept his eyes firmly pinned to the floor.

"We will need to rescue my mother. She will not be safe in the Manor, especially once the others find out I have defected," Draco muttered. Harry cringed, recalling Narcissa Malfoy's expression the last time he saw her on the train station. He realised he didn't particularly look forward to attending _that_ Meet-The-Parents-Brunch.

"Yes, fine," Snape muttered dismissively, appearing just as thrilled to assist Narcissa as Harry was. "And Dumbledore has assured me that Potter will undo my Unbreakable Vow."

"Heir Potter-Black," Harry corrected drolly, looking at his nails disinterestedly. Snape's face twisted into a dark scowl (Harry just loved how easy it was to rile up the sallow man) while Draco gaped.

"Can you do that? Can you really… Help him?" Draco asked Harry, turning to him in astonishment.

Harry looked over to Draco, amazed that he could care so much for such a snarky asshole. But Harry also knew that his own godfather could be a complete twat sometimes too. Harry felt his stomach twist at the thought of being able to save Draco's godfather; if Draco had the ability to save Sirius at his disposal, Harry would have been terrified. A bolt of empathy filled Harry and he lowered his head, his anger dissipating in a heartbeat. Harry suddenly felt childish, realising he was acting nearly as petulant and pissed off as last year, though he didn't have the excuse of a connection with Voldemort to blame this time.

"I can try," Harry confirmed slowly. "Though not for a while. I think I pulled something by removing your Mark."

"You did deplete yourself your magical reserves, Harry," Dumbledore finally spoke, eyes twinkling madly and a smile curved his lips.

Harry looked at Dumbledore in surprise. "Ah, that's why my head feels like it was run over by a train," he huffed, laughing lightly. "And a herd of hippogriffs. And some thestrals."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed, smiling.

"Let's not get _off track_ , hm?" Snape butt in, breaking Harry and Dumbledore's short truce. They turned to him, amused despite the man's caustic words, and Dumbledore gestured for him to continue.

"We will need somewhere for Draco to go over Yule," Snape bit out. "He will be expected to return to the Manor and provide the Dark Lord an update on his mission. We will need to kidnap Narcissa either on the last day of the term or on the first day of the holiday and relocate Draco and his mother to a safehouse. The only option – "

"Ancestral House of Black," Harry cut him off, staring at the professor through hooded eyes. "I'm sure Madam Malfoy will be more comfortable in a house she is familiar with."

"Ah," Dumbledore injected. "It appears you have found a way to enter the house?" He asked kindly, smiling disarmingly.

"I was never locked out," Harry answered simply. "I am the only wizard with knowledge of its location and it will stay like that." Harry was careful to avoid mentioning Kreacher, not willing to show all his cards just yet.

"It is extremely dangerous to have a Fidelius'd house with only one person knowing its address," Snape hissed. "Should you become trapped, you would rot in there for eternity; no one would ever find you."

Harry shrugged. "'Kay," he answered, unperturbed by Snape's comments, and turned back to face Dumbledore. "You organise the rescue of Madam Malfoy. I'll organise a couple bedrooms at the house. We'll meet here and I'll take them through the floo. Easy."

Harry felt a hand wrap around his shoulder and he was pulled back, surprised by the feeling of lips pressing against his. Draco cupped his face with two hands and rested his forehead against Harry's as he pulled away gently.

"Thank you," Draco breathed, the warm words fanning Harry's face. Harry struggled to not blush in front of Dumbledore and Snape (he had kept such tight control during this meeting, damnit) and hesitantly smiled back at Draco's heartfelt words.

"Of course," Harry whispered back, hard eyes softening at the look of desperation and appreciation in Draco's expression.

"Have some self-control, you imbecile," Snape snarked, though Harry wasn't sure who he was talking to. "I don't have all night to watch you two kiss and make up."

"What is going to happen to Ron Weasley?" Draco asked firmly, straightening as he stood tall in the office.

"Well, that depends what you mean," Dumbledore began slowly. "He didn't exactly harm anyone – "

"I can assure you that's not for a lack of trying," Harry cut him off, watching the headmaster through narrowed eyes.

"When I spoke to him, Harry, it was clear that he did not understand the ramifications of the spell he was attempting," Dumbledore answered firmly. Harry laughed disbelievingly.

"Oh, alright. I suppose that makes sense. Just because Ron didn't _mean_ to blow Draco up, throwing unknown dark curses at your fellow students is appropriate and you'll get off scot-free. Well, that's good news. Can you imagine how all of Slytherin is going to react when I announce it in the Great Hall?" Harry asked lightly, blinking innocently at Dumbledore.

"Harry," Dumbledore warned deeply, beginning to look as if he were at the end of his patience.

"No, don't take that tone with me, Professor," Harry snapped suddenly. Dumbledore's eyes widened marginally as Harry rose to his feet, mouth opening in surprise. "Whether or not I have misgivings with Ron has _nothing_ to do with the current situation. We could be on the best terms and I would still react the way I did."

Harry leaned over Dumbledore's desk, hands spread out bracingly on the wood and he pressed his face into the old wizard's personal space. "Ronald Weasley attempted to kill another student. I felt it, the _intent,_ in the curse he cast. He's a liability, a threat, and unstable. If you fail to expel him, I will visit the Board of Directors myself," he whispered, voice barely audible despite the echoing silence in the office.

"Harry," Draco murmured softly. Harry turned to face the blond, nostrils still flaring. "It's fine. I think he's learned his lesson anyway." Harry frowned, unsure why Draco wasn't as furious as he was.

"Harry, I do agree that one's intent is just as important as one's actions," Dumbledore sighed, leaning back in his wingback chair as he mulled over Harry's words. "And I apologise for any pain I may cause you through my decision. But, unfortunately, the war is looming closer with each passing day and I cannot find it within myself to send even a severely misguided child out of these safe walls. This may be the last place in Britain for our wizarding youth, though even I know it is not completely impenetrable."

Harry frowned, letting logic overtake his anger and he breathed deeply through his nose as he tried to calm down. He never thought he'd see the day that he would defend Draco Malfoy and try to get Ron expelled, but everything seemed to have flipped on its head recently. He collapsed into his seat and sighed, the wind taken out of his sails.

"Speaking of threatening your fellow students," Snape cut in, lips curled into a sneer. "I would appreciate it if you removed the bounty you've placed on your fellow housemates."

Harry looked at Snape in surprise and realised that the Potions Master was speaking to Draco.

"No," Draco disagreed simply. Snape scowled darkly in response.

"Bounty?" Harr asked, confused.

"On the entire House of Slytherin. Anyone who speaks of or about Harry Potter-Black gets their skin turned inside out and the caster rewarded. One hundred gallons per victim," Draco answered blankly, looking out the dark window of the office as if bored with the entire situation.

"A _hundred gallons_?" Harry gasped. "You – _you're_ the reason – " Harry quickly cut himself off, knowing that this wasn't an appropriate conversation to be had in front of the two professors. "We'll discuss this later," Harry stated firmly, looking at Draco. The blond merely smiled smirked in response and nodded.

"Provided no one's skin is actually turned inside out," Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. "I hardly see the problem, Severus."

Snape gaped momentarily and then rolled his eyes. He scowled dismissively at Dumbledore's unruffled demeanour and rubbed his forehead as if attempting to ward off an oncoming migraine. "You are all insane," Snape grumbled. "And I have better things to do other than try to have a logical conversation with illogical morons."

The Potions Master swept out of the room with a dramatic swirl of his robes, leaving a chuckling Dumbledore in his wake.

"Always on a stage, our dear Severus," Dumbledore stated, humour colouring his tone.

Harry smiled politely in response, though he didn't get nearly as much amusement from Snape's behaviour as Dumbledore clearly did.

Harry stood as well, taking his leave and nodding at Dumbledore. Draco quickly stood to his feet and followed the raven out of the room, whispering his farewell to the beaming headmaster.

Once the pair stepped off the bottom landing of the stairs and passed the gargoyle entrance of Dumbledore's office, Draco grabbed Harry and trapped him against the nearest wall. Harry's head spun in surprise and hands grabbed Draco's robes to steady himself, a little annoyed with how familiar this was becoming. Half of his instincts screamed at him to slap the taller man's hands off him while the other half was exhausted with constantly fighting and selfishly wanted to bask in the warmth caused by Draco's touch, if only for a few moments.

Draco looked down at him with heavy, hooded eyes as his waist pressed the raven into the stone wall and hands braced on either side of Harry's head. His face appeared to be set in stone, as still and pale as marble as he looked down at his catch. Harry felt a small blush rise on the wings of his cheeks under the heat of Draco's intense, searching eyes.

"You are incredible," Draco finally whispered, lips barely moving as the words fell from his mouth softly. Harry blinked at him in surprise. "I've been such a dick to you. Trapped you in… _This._ I didn't think you'd have me if you knew what it all meant. And yet here you are, offering your home to me and my mother. Freeing me from that psychotic madman. I… I owe you a life debt, Harry," Draco murmured, peering at Harry through long, blond eyelashes.

Harry felt an indescribable emotion spread warmly across his chest, his heart aching at the honest appreciation and wonder in Draco's voice. Soft lips pressed against his in a chaste kiss, a sweet gesture of appreciation rather than lust and want. A knot of stress in Harry's chest began to untangle, his mind quickly melting as he smiled into the kiss and felt Draco smile back.

"Bad!" Screamed a voice in the hallway, jarring and shattering their brief moment of peace. Draco yelped loudly and let go of Harry quickly, reeling back as he grabbed his leg in pain.

Harry looked down in shock at a furious Kreacher holding a massive wooden spoon between two small hands, waving it threateningly at Draco.

"Kreacher, what in Merlin's name are you doing?" Harry asked, a flush blossoming on his cheeks in embarrassment.

"No touching!" Kreacher screamed with an insane twinkle in his eye, his old, wrinkly face pursed in contempt.

"You know this elf?" Draco asked, astonished, as he backed away from the tiny terror.

"I's being Chaperone!" The elf barked at the boy in an imperious tone, showing off a handmade badge pinned to his tunic with the Black family crest on it.

"You made _that_ your Chaperone?" Draco breathed, turning towards Harry in horror.

Harry felt the blush on his cheeks spread down his neck and heat up exponentially, suddenly realising that his evil plan may have backfired. "Kreacher's not a 'that', Draco," he protested weakly, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"You's being very, _very bad_!" The elf screamed once more, approaching Draco with a snarl on his face.

"Merlin in a teapot," Draco exclaimed as he dodged the elf's weapon. "Severus is right; you're insane. All of you," he scowled.

Harry felt his stomach twist as Draco rolled his eyes at Kreacher's warning swing and he took off down the hall, calling out, "Next time we snog, leave your rabid elf at home, won't you?"

Kreacher scowled and spat at Draco's retreating form, turning to Harry with a glint in his eye.

"Masters Harrys being unable to say no; Masters Harrys being having _bad_ self-control," the elf badgered grumpily. "Masters Harry must have Chaperones at _all_ times! _Shameful_!"

Harry groaned at the vicious little monster and he allowed himself to bullied into having a late dinner in the kitchens, sulkily following the elf through the castle walls as his mind wandered and lips tingled from Draco's soft kiss.

* * *

"Masters Draco being a good boy. Masters Draco never being taking advantage of Harry Potter," Dobby stated firmly over the table after listening to Kreacher gripe about Draco's turning Harry into 'piles of goo' (Kreacher's words exactly). Harry nervously watched Kreacher sneer at the younger elf disparagingly over his barely touched meal, trying to remain unnoticed as the two elves sparred over Draco.

" _Masters Draco_!" Kreacher repeated in a high pitch, whiny voice. "Masters Draco being _so good!"_ He mocked cruelly. He scoffed loudly in disgust, dramatically tossing his head as he flapped a dismissive hand in Dobby's face.

The other elves in the kitchens quickly scampered around their table, carefully ignoring the fight as they cleaned up after dinner. Harry watched, wide eyed, as Dobby growled furiously.

"Don't be mocking Dobby!" Dobby barked angrily, slamming a fist on the table. "Masters Draco – "

"Being a whiny, pathetics, blood-traitor _scum_!" Kreacher finished for him, quickly standing on the bench and sneering down his long, hooked nose at a trembling Dobby.

That seemed to be the final straw for the younger house elf, for Dobby released a violent battle cry and launched himself over the table. He tackled Kreacher with surprising strength and they both toppled onto the floor, struggling as they scratched and bit one another. Harry stood quickly and froze in indecision as he considered the best way to pull the two apart without losing an eye.

"Oh, no, Mister Harry," a little female elf interrupted his fluttering, gently tugging on his jean leg. Harry looked down at her in surprise, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. "Don't be interrupting the fightsies – Dobbies and Kreacher be needing this for a while."

They looked on as the two elves fought savagely and Harry winced as a tiny fist right hooked Kreacher's jaw. Kreacher retaliated in kind, roaring in fury, and the flurry of movement was largely ignored by the other elves as they provided the pair a large berth.

"Why are they fighting?" Harry asked, crouching down to the little elf's eyelevel and flinching as Kreacher grabbed a goblet and started whacking Dobby ruthlessly on the head.

"Both be liking Miss Winky," the elf shyly told him, nodding to an older female elf slumped over a table and snoring loudly. A tankard of what appeared to be butterbeer sat next to her head and he could smell the sweet alcohol from across the room.

"Winky?" Harry asked, surprised.

"Miss Winky being very sick," the elf whispered conspiratorially, nervously pulling on her ears. "Miss Winky be drinking all day. But Dobby and Kreacher be in love."

Harry felt a laugh pulled from his chest in disbelief. A lady elf. Kreacher and Dobby were fighting over a _girl_. It was so completely left-field that Harry grinned at the little elf and winked. She smiled back shyly.

"What's your name?" Harry asked politely.

"Meemie, Masters Harry," Meemie answered and Harry realised she was quite young, perhaps only a decade or so old.

"Well, Meemie, could you promise me to make sure they don't hurt each other too much? I have to go to bed or else I might pass out on the floor here," he asked cheekily, wrapping his arms around his legs as he sat back on his haunches.

Meemie nodded solemnly and Harry shook her tiny hand in thanks. As Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common rooms, he couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of Kreacher, Dobby, and a completely oblivious, alcoholic Winky trapped in a bizarre love triangle.


	20. Chapter 20: Time Flies

_Thank you so much to zucca302, Aubrey Simone himekitsune24, ArielSakura, BarbyBells, Anime Merodi, Zaphhh, R4m 0f The3 F0r3st, daithi4377 for your darling reviews - you are feeding my typing! 3 and apologies to DheeDixon for my conplicated writing ;) Another big thanks for all of your support with favourites and follows (and views from silent readers!); I'm really pleased with your response.  
_

 _I have about a dozen different ideas of where to take this story so I'll slow down updates and organise my thoughts before posting. Slowly everything will tie back in (if I structure it correctly!) and I'm hoping to not leave any loose ends. Enjoy!_

* * *

 _Meemie nodded solemnly and Harry shook her tiny hand in thanks. As Harry made his way back to the Gryffindor common rooms, he couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of Kreacher, Dobby, and a completely oblivious, alcoholic Winky trapped in a bizarre love triangle._

* * *

 **Chapter 20:** **Time Flies When You're Having… Fun?**

Following the meeting with Dumbledore, Snape and Draco, Harry soon realised that most the year's madness had come to an end and the students of Hogwarts began to finally settle down into the academic year. Harry was immensely grateful as he didn't think he could take another shock to the system.

To Harry's relief, Ron appeared to be gagged into silence by Dumbledore, so word of his… _Affair_ , per se, with Draco remained a secret. Of course, that didn't stop the other students from blabbing in their letters home. Within a few days, his face and name was plastered across the Daily Prophet with a vengeance. Between announcements of his blood adoption (which wasn't noticed during his late entrance on the first evening as the gore on his face drew away attention from his new appearance), declarations of his newfound creature status (it was hard to be oblivious to the fact), as well as his newfound suitor and engagement, the press had decided to go unrepentantly insane.

Thankfully, the concept of Draco Malfoy being his mate seemed too outlandish and impossible that the press overlooked him (and his well-hidden Veela inheritance) with ease. Conspiracy theories were quickly spread regarding a handsome Norwegian fossegrim who had spent the summer in Britian as a guest fiddler in the London Symphony Orchestra, to Harry's consternation and frustration.

The media, however, appeared to still have both feet firmly planted in the Harry Potter Parade as the articles and gossip rags were more fawning than bigoted. That certainly didn't stop Dolores Umbridge from causing a scene in the Wizengamot regarding his creature blood, though the press was certainly more damning of her behaviour than Harry's new status.

Harry found himself cackling over breakfast as reporters ripped into the Frog Woman, finally doing their job and investigating the woman's highly questionable career as High Inquisitor and Professor of DADA at Hogwarts. Rita Skeeter was still unable to find a nice thing to say about Harry and his friends (or anyone, really), so she was appointed the editor of the controversial topic and the investigation quickly dissolved into a scathing blood-bath of a circus.

After nearly a week of sensationalist interviews with traumatised, scarred students (some of which were purebloods, which drew ire and condemnation from even the most conservative of Wizarding Society) and the ex-Prime Minister Fudge immediately backtracking his support for the woman, Umbridge was swiftly removed from her post and her past legislation put on pause for review.

The new political upheaval provided the werewolves and other traditionally 'dark' creatures (Harry was surprised to find out he fit in this category) the opportunity to protest unjust laws. Harry was horrified to note that there were many decrees preventing werewolves and such from holding a stable job, rent or purchase property in major cities, and were subject to an entire section of Wizarding Law that imposed inhumane restrictions. Harry found himself inundated with letters from various Alphas of werewolf tribes requesting support and aid in the upcoming war, though the letters were very cryptic and difficult to understand at first. Harry was dismissive in the beginning, but Hermione's awe by their direct pleas for assistance (especially considering most had already secretly pledged allegiance to Voldemort) drew his attention to the severity of the situation.

Harry reached out to Remus for recommendations and they had arranged a meeting with Amelie; between his governess' assistance in diplomacy (and translating the subtext of the letters) and Remus' expansive knowledge of the various tribes, the trio were able to write back to each Alpha within a week. Harry had offered his support should the werewolves call upon him and the resources of House Black. Remus helped him suggest a few safehouses owned by the Black family that could house defecting werewolves and the address would be distributed by Remus only – he would need to meet the werewolf tribes in person and ensure that they were not spies for Voldemort. Other more insidious (and unstable) creatures, such as hags and wendigos, were politely thanked for their letters and informed that he would be contactable via owl should they require assistance.

Dumbledore had somehow discovered his newfound influence (Harry knew this had to do with the nosy old wizard reading his mail) and attempted to sway the young man into requesting the werewolves to join forces with the Order of the Phoenix. For the greater good, of course. The entire situation reeked of manipulation and angling for an unseen outcome, so Harry politely declined and requested the old man stop reading his mail lest he start owling cursed rings. The jibe had disturbed Dumbledore and the man surrendered, never speaking of the subject again (though the inextinguishable twinkle in his eye unnerved Harry).

The following weeks passed by quickly, the end of summer melting into autumn and autumn beginning to fade into winter. Thankfully, nothing happened on Hallowe'en, defying the annual tradition – which both relieved and worried Harry. Between honing his diplomacy skills with tribes of dark creatures, trying to keep on top of his NEWT courses and learn runes with Hermione, avoiding Slughorn's sycophantic attempts to rope him into attending Slug Club, biweekly lessons with Amelie, _and_ Quidditch practice, Harry felt himself beginning to fray at the seams. The stress of the upcoming war loomed heavily on his shoulders (the disappearances, murders and attacks increasing every day) and Harry found the days passing so quickly that he could barely keep up.

Katy Bell turned out to be a fantastic Quidditch Captain. She was immensely relieved when Harry's Firebolt was found and near tears once Harry was able to coax his cousin into returning the Captain badge. Tryouts went smoothly, though nearly half of Hogwarts turned out to watch Harry perform (which was irritating in of itself) and he firmly crushed misplaced accusations that his new creature blood was an unfair advantage. In the end, Ron had to pull out of Quidditch as he was unable to attend most practices. Rumour had it that the boy received so many detentions from Snape (for an unknown cause) that the redhead was warned he would be held back for the summer and forced to apprentice under Snape's watchful eye should he fail to complete them all.

To everyone's initial disappointment, Cormac McLaggen was the only suitable Keeper for the team and, though a few younger years showed promise, no one else was experienced enough to hold up against the other teams. Upon discovering McLaggen had cornered Hermione rather aggressively in a corridor asking for a date (only to be rescued by a ferocious bat-boogey hex thrown by a furious Ginny), Harry was surprised to discover out that his new elvish blood reacted nearly as strongly as it had to Ron threatening Draco.

Harry had pinned the tall boy against the wall of the Gryffindor common room in unnatural strength, snarled inhumanely sharp teeth in the trembling boy's face, and informed him in the most severe terms possible that the next time he so much as gave Hermione a start, Harry would rip the boy's intestines through his arse. Surprisingly, McLaggen didn't immediately run off and nark to the closest professor and seemed to keep a low profile after the incident. The boy would duck his head every time Harry walked by and kept his nose firmly to the grindstone during Quidditch practices.

After a few months of keeping his trap shut, McLaggen solemnly apologised to Hermione and asked her if she would give him another chance. Hermione reported to Harry that she was so taken aback by his humility and about-face that she'd agreed to attend Slughorn's Christmas Party with the boy in a few weeks' time.

Harry was initially furious that McLaggen had once again spoken to Hermione, but the girl's calming words helped Harry realise that (despite her pursed lips and dramatic eye rolls) Hermione liked McLaggen. He was a little startled to see the parallels of his best friend's relationship with the seventh year and his own parent's beginning. McLaggen was a braggart, a spoiled pureblood Gryffindor who appeared to have more brawn than brains. Hermione was a beautiful, smart-as-a-whip muggleborn with nerves of steel who called him out on his bullshit.

It amused Harry to no end that Hermione was constantly bemoaning the boy's fascination with her and Harry could barely refrain from bursting into laughter at the painfully obvious sexual tension in each encounter. Harry allowed himself a few secret smiles as the girl imperiously wrapped McLaggen around her little finger. _She certainly has a type_ , Harry had realised with a smirk. Though, unlike Ron, McLaggen appeared to learn a lesson the first time.

The subject of Ron was still a very sore topic in the group. Ginny had practically disowned her brother for his obscene behaviour at the start of the year, snarling at him in the corridors and never holding back a hex should he get in her way. Harry and Hermione took a considerably less aggressive stance and collectively agreed that ignoring the redhead would be less stressful and time-consuming.

This did not stop Ron from trying to apologise to Harry and Hermione, following them around for a couple weeks like a lost puppy. Hermione was almost willing to forgive Ron, if only to get him to stop endlessly begging for forgiveness and friendship, but Harry quashed her pity upon reminding his best friend of Ron's behaviour over the past few years. Eventually, even Ron could be seen to take a hint and backed off, though he struggled to reintegrate with the other Gryffindors of their year as they seemed to take his lack of loyalty to the pair rather personally. He finally made friends with a group of sixth year Hufflepuffs, who were alarmed by the development but too polite to ask the redhead to not sit with them.

To Harry's unending angst, Kreacher took his role as Chaperone much more seriously than necessary, wielding his 'no touching' dictatorship (and wooden spoon) with ironclad resolve. The elf became only more bitter after his amorous intentions were stonewalled by Winky, who declared Butterbeer to be her one and only love (to both his and Dobby's despair). Even Ginny was fed up with the tiny terror, demanding that Harry fire the elf immediately as he was becoming 'literally unbearable from the stress of his blueballs and cock-blocking elf'. Her declaration had even the normally unrufflable Luna choking and Harry was so embarrassed he blushed for nearly a week after, avoiding the foul-mouthed girl at every given opportunity.

Harry was secretly pleased, however, by the turn of events. Everything slowed down between himself and Draco – despite already being engaged to the git. The magical influence of the Stake pulled them closer together constantly and, though they had many classes together, Harry found himself sneaking off in the dead of night to meet with the blond in an unused classroom. While their meetings were completely chaste (Kreacher sincere threat of castration had the blond providing a fair airgap of a few feet), Harry felt himself growing closer to the Slytherin.

To Harry's surprise (and relief), underneath Draco's caustic jibes and swotty, stick-up-the-arse exterior, Harry discovered a completely different person. Well, not completely – Harry was amused to note that the boy would always be little high-strung and a fair bit intense, despite his hidden laid-back personality. Harry's lessons of pureblood culture helped him dig past Draco's dismissive diversions and he uncovered a highly intelligent human being lurking in the background. Especially once Draco dropped his blood purist propaganda façade and spoke openly, confiding in Harry with genuine honesty.

Harry often wondered what would have happened if he had shaken Draco's hand that day on the train, if he'd let the Sorting Hat place him in Slytherin or spoken more with the small boy he had met Madam Malkin's on his first trip to Diagon Alley. Harry realised that he liked trading spars and insults with Draco, his mind constantly challenged by the blond's wit. He wondered if they would have ever gotten together without the influence of the magical creatures singing in their veins, seeing as they did have a lot in common and chemistry once Harry got off his high horse and Draco stopped snarking at every opportunity. Harry sincerely doubted it, though.

Harry was also surprised to find out that his understanding of Slytherin relationships was rubbish, having always been told that the students had allies rather than friendships. But Draco spoke of his childhood friends with the loyalty of a lion and would glare at Harry, silently daring the raven-haired teen to contradict him or say something rude. Harry never did.

Draco was forced to continue his mission to repair a Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Hidden Things, a fact that Harry pulled out of him with much prodding and bullying. Harry had been horrified and Draco's miserable expression upon admitting the truth filled Harry with even more hatred for Voldemort. For trapping a teenager into this life. Hatred for Draco's father, for handing his only son to a sociopathic serial murderer on a silver platter.

Harry was amazed to note that Draco being a 'Marked' Death Eater actually seemed to terrify his housemates rather than impress them. The Slytherins kept their mouths sealed in regards to Harry (the bounty still hanging over their heads) and Draco was careful to keep his left forearm wrapped, hiding his now missing _Dark Mark_. Harry felt an ominous shudder run down his spine as Draco confided during one of their 'dates' that there were many spies in the seventh year; Draco was convinced a couple students were Polyjuiced Death Eaters sent to keep an eye on him and ensure he was completing his tasks.

On top of his already extremely packed schedule, Harry met with Dumbledore once a week to go over the old man's conspiracies regarding the Cup of Hufflepuff and the destruction of the horcruxes. They finally agreed that the most plausible theory was that the cup lay in Bellatrix LeStrange's Gringotts vault, which made everything that much more difficult. Though Harry's new standing as Heir Black allowed him some leeway to demand to be allowed into the insane woman's vault, seeing as her belongings were still technically under the umbrella of House Black, it still gave him a migraine just thinking about the missions that lay ahead.

In between these secret meetings with Dumbledore, Harry also worked on unravelling the Unbreakable Oath that bound Snape to his word. It turned out to be near impossible as the oath did not take a corporal form but rather tied verbal intent to Snape's magical core and though Harry had removed Draco's soul-bound magic, Harry found it difficult to sink once more into that untapped magical well of his creature inheritance. Harry spent hours focusing on Snape's magic in the confines of Dumbledore's office, dipping into the cluster of Snape's magical core as the sallow man kept as still and pale as marble, carefully trying to avoid imploding Snape's magic on accident. Squib or not, Harry was sure that Snape could rip him apart faster than one could say 'Oops'.

As time passed, Harry withdrew further into his overwhelming obligations and Britain once more tumbled into war.

* * *

Everything finally came to a head when Hermione began to panic about her date with Cormac on the last day of the term.

"What have I done?" Hermione asked Harry hollowly, face ashen and eyes wide. Harry looked at her in surprise as the girl wrung her wrists. Their last tests were completed yesterday and Bathsheba, Harry and Hermione had spent the day in the library completing their winter break prep when Hermione had suddenly paled and dropped her book.

"What do you mean?" Bathsheba asked curiously. Hermione turned haunted eyes on the younger girl and twisted her hands together painfully.

"I'm going on a date. With Cormac. _Tonight_." Hermione stated, looking as if someone had just force-fed her a slug.

"Yes," Harry agreed, watching her curiously.

"On a date. With _Cormac_ ," Hermione emphasised.

"Yup. He's gotten pretty cute, too, since he's learned to be less of an ass," Bathsheba quipped. "I hear that Romilda is furious."

Hermione pursed her lips and began to turn a rather alarming shade of green.

"Alright, we're done," Harry sighed, admitting defeat as Hermione dissolved into shock. He quickly packed their bags and led the stunned girl out of the Library, followed closely by a nattering Bathsheba.

"Since Lavender has returned, I heard that Ron's been trying to get with her again. But she's not having a word of it, not since Parvati told her about Ron hitting on Romilda a few weeks ago, just before Lavender got back. And Romilda has totally given up on chasing Harry, since he's taken and all. So it only makes sense that –"

Hermione whipped around suddenly, reanimated out of her shock by sheer frustration. "Bessie, I swear to Merlin that if you don't stop talking right now I will literally turn you into a pocket watch," the girl breathed, looking harried. Bathsheba blanched at the brunette's brutal tone, alarmed, and tears welled in her eyes.

"It's okay, Bessie," Harry sighed, placing a comforting hand on the younger girl's shoulder as Hermione spun around and charged down the hall. "We're all just a little strung out. End of the term, and all."

Bathsheba nodded and ducked her head as they walked to the Gryffindor commons.

Harry fell deep into thought as they walked, his mind churning over the upcoming Christmas break. While it would be his first Christmas away from Hogwarts since he began attending, many students were remaining over the break to hide from the chaos in Britain and Harry felt relieved that he finally could spend time away from his peers. However, the last thing he wanted was to spend the holidays being chilly ignored by Narcissa. And Merlin knew how Draco was going to act towards him once his mother was around. Draco had a different mask for nearly every person in his sphere; Harry wasn't entirely keen on having to tiptoe around his own house as Draco reverted to his childhood self.

The rescue (or rather kidnapping) of Narcissa was to be completed early tomorrow morning, just before the students prepared for the train ride home. Draco had become more and more agitated as the day approached, having not told his mother word of the new developments and stressing endlessly about her reaction once she was forcefully absconded from her own manor – leaving it to the claws of a furious Voldemort. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, trying to stop his mind from dwelling on the upcoming drama.

Once they made it through the Gryffindor portal safely, Hermione ran up the stairs to the girl's dorm. "Ginny Weasley! Help me!" The girl wailed as she disappeared up the staircase.

Harry looked at Bathsheba in amusement, who rolled her eyes and followed the distressed brunette at a more reasonable pace.

"See you in an hour, Harry," Bathsheba called out.

Ginny could be heard yelling back at Hermione in the depths of the girl's dorm, "Salazar's tongue, Hermione! You've only got an hour to get ready! Are you insane?"

Harry shuddered at the flurry of movement that was undoubtedly going on in the dorm; he could hear Lavender and Parvati berating the girl and then Hermione screamed, a short sound that was cut off in a horrible, muffled way. Harry pursed his lips as he climbed the stairs to his dorm room, completely flabbergasted by the way a date turned even the rational, level-headed Hermione into a panicking mess.

Harry had asked Luna to attend the Slughorn Christmas Party with him and had laughed at Draco's astonished (if not slightly jealous) reaction. Luna had a way of taking things a little too lightly and he needed a bit of good humour and distraction for the events that were about to unfold.

After making quick work of showering, dressing in tasteful dress robes and tying his just-shoulder length hair back into a bun at the back of his head (Amelie had swooned at the style, claiming it made him look like a young Sirius), Harry made his way down to the common rooms. Kreacher had stolen the dress robes from Regulus' wardrobe and Harry had been relieved by their elegant, timeless tailoring seeing as his pushy house elf would force his young charge to wear the robes he chose whether or not Harry approved.

Harry waited patiently for Hermione as he practiced his occlumency, staring into the flames of the hearth with glazed eyes. Harry sometimes wished that he could find it in himself to forgive Ron. He knew it was a bit intense to just decide that the redhead was no longer a friend, but something in him still singed from Ron's behaviour.

Ron was easy to talk to, easy to be friends with, easy to goof off with. But after all that they had gone through, after everything they'd suffered together, Harry struggled to understand how Ron could still treat him and Hermione like punching bags for his own insecurities. How he could make Hermione cry over and over, despite claiming to cherish and even love her. Harry was beginning to realise that Hermione was the closest thing he had to a sister, his oldest friend and closest confidant. Watching her heart break, to be treated with such little respect – Harry knew he'd never be able to look at Ron the same way.

Harry shook his head, realising that his thoughts had wandered once more and he gave up on trying to clear his mind. As he did so, Hermione walked down the stairs with poise and Harry smiled up at his best friend. As she had in fourth year, Hermione looked stunning. She certainly wasn't nearly as done up as she was for the Yule Ball, but a combination of Lavender, Parvati, Ginny and Bathsheba's extensive knowledge of makeup and hair spells worked like a charm.

"You look like a heartbreaker, love," Harry laughed as she reached the final step, taking her hand and twirling her gently. Hermione smiled shyly, a small quirk of her lips as she glowed happily.

"And you," she approved, giving him a look over. "Though it will never cease to annoy me how good you clean up with precisely no effort at all. _Boys_ ," she huffed in disgust.

Harry chuckled and tucked her arm into his elbow, leading them out of the common rooms with a tearful farewell from a swooning Lavender and Parvati. As they walked through the corridors, Harry and Hermione chatted lightly, though his mind was busy whirring through the plans of the evening. Slughorn was nearly catatonic with joy when Harry agreed to attending, though Harry would never admit that it was his governess that had harangued him into going. She had poked and prodded, insisting that there were going to be representative of clans attending and demanding that he make connections while he was young. Unfortunately, Draco has agreed (though sulkily) and between the two blonds, Harry found himself backed into a corner.

Harry smiled as he spotted Luna, a vision in her mushroom-inspired dress, gazing off into space a few meters from the entrance to the party. Harry released Hermione to a pale, nervous looking Cormac, and he bowed deeply to his date.

"You look gorgeous, Luna. If I wasn't engaged…" Harry murmured cheekily, winking at the blonde. She beamed brightly at him and curtsied with surprising elegance, taking his proffered arm.

"Such a magical time, Yule," Luna said thoughtfully. "There's an awful lot of crumpets in the holly. And I see you've caught a case of lemmies," she added, peering up at him. "They're attracted to conspiracies, you know."

Harry looked down at her in surprise, catching himself wondering if the girl knew. "I do have a rather interesting plan for tonight," Harry whispered playfully in her ear, raising an eyebrow at her. "But best not discuss it here."

Luna smiled at Harry winningly, a mysterious twinkle glittering in her eye, and she pulled him towards the celebratory noise of the Slug Club Christmas Party.


	21. Chapter 21: Pot Calling the Kettle Black

_Didn't I just say that I would slow down posting? I think I'm addicted... And thanks DheeDixon for your lovely review - I was just pulling your leg before! Really happy to hear you like the story! ^-^_

* * *

 _Luna smiled at Harry winningly, a mysterious twinkle glittering in her eye, and pulled him towards the celebratory noise of the Slug Club Christmas Party._

* * *

 **Chapter 21: Pot Calling the Kettle Black**

Once passing the threshold into the party, Harry was immediately overwhelmed by the sheer amount of people and potent auras filling the atmosphere. He could even smell a bit of Amortentia wafting around and he scowled, put off by the Potion Master's manipulative attempts to seduce his guests into submissive enjoyment. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry caught sight of Kreacher scowling at the guests while he held a large silver platter, looking ready to skin someone alive. Harry subtly ducked his head at his house elf in greeting and turned just in time to see Slughorn bustling over to him.

"Harry, m'boy!" The man boomed, reeking of port and gouda. "About time, ol' chap! Never took you for being fashionably late – oh my, is this your date?" The man asked abruptly, looking crestfallen.

Harry felt his hackles rise at Slughorn's flared nostrils and obvious distaste as he raked beady eyes over the blonde girl. "Yes, Professor Slughorn," Harry answered coolly. "This is my good friend, Luna Lovegood. Of the Lovegood printing estate."

Slughorn seemed to perk up at that titbit and turned his attentions back to Harry. "Well, I did promise quite a few folks here that you would be bringing _a certain someone_ ," the man hinted heavily. "Though a member of the media is _always_ welcome to attend my events!" Slughorn then turned to Luna and gave the unimpressed girl a glittering smile.

Harry had never seen Luna look as disgusted as she did now, the girl usually calm and demure despite her outlandish statements, and he had to hold back a snort as she pursed her lips.

"Luna, dear," Harry asked gently, puling the girl's attention towards him before she insulted the professor with declarations of noticing niggletons up his nose or some such. "Be a dear and get us a punch?"

Luna took the suggestion with grace, nodding her head and wandering off without a word to the surprised professor.

"Ah, a girl of few words. Not many these days, I've noticed," Slughorn intoned wisely and Harry nearly burst into laughter at Slughorn's observation, holding it back with just a twitch of his lips.

"I see you've gathered quite a crowd. You seem to know the most interesting people, Professor," Harry responded lightly.

"Oh _yes,_ Harry. I have quite a good friendship with most here. I taught many of them, you see, and they do like to humour little old me on occasion by attending one of my little get togethers," Slughorn responded in faux humility, a sycophantic smile carving into his round cheeks. Harry sensed the man was fishing for compliments, but Harry was not exactly in the mood to sate a grown man's insecurities so he nodded sagely and watched the throngs of guests with interest.

Harry's arm was suddenly grabbed by Slughorn and he was pulled to a corner of the party, clenching his hands as his nails grew exponentially at the unwelcome touch. He kept his face as relaxed as he could, but he could feel agitation stirring in his chest as the man chortled and bumbled through the crowds, dragging an extremely uncomfortable Harry along with him.

"Harry, m'boy, you really must meet Eldred Worple, and of course the British representative of the vampire community, Sanguini," Slughorn nattered, finally releasing his iron grip as he waved at the men before him as if showcasing his favourite pets.

Harry tilted his head marginally in polite acknowledgement, keeping his attention on the vampire as he looked at Slughorn in paux interest. Worple quickly cut Slughorn off, an eyebrow raising as he appraised Harry.

"Harry Potter! I am simply delighted –" the man gushed, holding out his hand. Harry shook the appendage politely, enjoying the way the man seemed to pale at the feeling of sharpened claws digging into the side of his hand. "Ah, I see the rumours are true," the man stated, pulling back his hand quickly.

Harry hummed in agreeance and watched the slightly nervous man through hooded eyes, a smile plastered politely to his face despite his rather obvious disinterest in the conversation.

"I do think it would be such a good idea to write a biography, you see, of your life," Worple began slowly, suddenly looking a bit more professional and less excitable. "It would only take six or so hours, you see, and I believe the community would adore to truly hear your side of the story."

Harry laughed lightly. "There had been many books written about me, Mr. Worple," Harry answered evenly. "I'm sure my side of the tale would offer little interest compared to the adventurous novels I've read about me published by your firm."

Worple shifted uncomfortably then, looking unsettled by Harry's candour.

Slughorn began to laugh and clapped Harry firmly on the shoulder. "Cheeky sense of humour, isn't that right?" He asked Worple and Sanguini, once more blissfully unaware of the awkward tension in the conversation.

"It is a pleasure to put a voice to the letters," Sanguini interrupted suddenly, his deep tenor reverberating into their little group.

Harry turned to the vampire with a genuine smile. "And a pleasure to meet you in person, Sanguini," Harry answered politely.

"Ah, have you two already met?" Slughorn butt in, eyes glittering in excitement.

"It would be remiss of my duty as representative to not reach out to our own little dark saviour, would it not?" Sanguini whispered to Slughorn, though his attention on Harry never wavered.

Luna broke the staring contest by arriving with drinks and blinking at Worple and Sanguini with interest. "Hello, Mr. Worple. Hello, Mr. Sanguini," Luna quipped brightly.

"Ah, a young seer. Just Sanguini will be fine," the vampire chuckled, taking Luna's hand and kissing it gently. Harry bristled at the action and Sanguini stared at the boy knowingly.

"A seer?" Slughorn gaped, turning his full attention to Luna. "Oh my! You really must attend my next Club meeting, my dear. I will be hosting another in January when we return from Yule, you see."

"Oh, no thank you," Luna answered abruptly, frowning disapprovingly at a shocked Slughorn.

As the man spluttered at her blunt refusal, a commotion in the front of the room caught Harry's attention. Draco was dragged into the room by a firm fist attached to Filch, the blond's eyes glowing silver in his fury and body shaking in rage.

Harry felt his heart leap up into his throat. This was too soon – he would need to adjust his plans. Slughorn followed his line of sight and growled, looking none too pleased that his party was being gatecrashed by a squib and a convicted Death Eater's son. Just as the man moved to deal with the situation, beady eyes looking around the room to make sure no one had noticed the interruption, Harry placed a firm hand on the man's arm and bent his head to hover his lips over Slughorn's ear.

"He's with me, Professor," Harry purred, holding him back.

Slughorn turned to Harry in surprise, blinking rapidly at Harry's tone. He then turned a rather disastrous shade of grey, breathing, "No – it cannot be."

Harry smiled aloofly at the man and wove his way through the crowd, failing to say goodbye to his audience and ignoring the other guests vying for his attention. Draco seemed to relax marginally as Harry approached him, staring at him with sharp intensity.

Snape appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Draco's elbow, stealing his attention from Harry. The tall, ominous man hissed inaudibly at Filch, who let go of Draco as if burned and slithered out of the room quickly.

Harry finally reached Draco's side and smiled tenderly at the blond. Things were about to get a little rough, so he figured he should do his best to quell the oblivious man's nerves.

"Hello, Professor Snape," Harry greeting cordially, looking at the professor amusedly through hooded eyes. As predicted, the professor snarled at Harry and jerked his head towards the door. Harry obeyed the silent command and the trio walked out of the stifling room and into the cool corridor.

"You idiot!" Snape barked at Draco, violently releasing the arm in his vice-like grip with a push. "What are you doing wandering these halls?"

"Harry asked to meet me here," Draco answered simply, staring up at his godfather defensively.

"Potter is a moron," Snape huffed. "You should not be here. Go back to your dorm. Tomorrow will be a stressful day. For all of us."

"I'm sure it will," Harry answered evenly, smiling disarmingly at the bitter man. "But right now is about to get much worse."

Snape and Draco turned to him, the latter looking puzzled, as Harry closed his eyes and focused. Tapping into an instinctual well of magic, magic that had weaved through his core since the blood adoption, he felt the power rise to his call. Harry opened his eyes, a green and silver reflecting the candlelight in animalistic glow, and grabbed Draco's hand.

The magic reached a peak and Harry focused solely on the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place. The magic leapt at his request, binding his hand to Draco's, and they disapparated in a loud _crack!_

* * *

Draco stumbled away from Harry the moment they landed in a heap on the worn carpet of No. 12 Grimmauld Place. He spluttered as he inhaled a puff of dust and whipped his head as he took in his surroundings. Draco leapt to his feet and pointed a wand at Harry, face pale and nostrils flaring.

"It's me, Draco," Harry murmured soothingly, raising his palms to show he was unarmed. "I just had to… Adjust the plans a bit."

Draco glared at him apprehensively, keeping his wand unwaveringly trained on the Black heir and jaw set firmly.

"It's me," Harry repeated steadily, eyebrows drawing together. "Ron's wand backfired in second year when he tried to curse you for calling Hermione of mudblood. He was vomiting slugs all night."

Draco's eyes glinted and Harry felt the tip of the hawthorn wand sparkling in uncast magic.

"We saw the Dark Lord drinking unicorn blood in first year during detention in the Forbidden Forest," Harry continued softly. Silver, molten eyes shuttered and Draco lowered his wand, breathing deeply through his nose.

"I never told anyone that," Draco whispered distantly, frowning. "Where's my mother?"

"Dobby's getting her. He'll apparate her to Hogwarts and Kreacher will bring her here. I'm expecting them any moment," Harry answered, relived that Draco finally believed him.

"Wait," Draco barked, the sudden noise jarring and Harry found himself immediately grateful that he had found a way to silence the portrait of Walburga Black over the summer. "Kreacher's not here? He's busy?"

"Kreacher will be along any minute," Harry responded, surprised by Draco's sharp tone. "He's –"

Draco leapt at Harry so quickly that the raven gasped in surprise, laughing as he hit the floor. Draco's lips sealed against his, hands wrapping into tangled hair and moaning deeply against his mouth.

"Draco," Harry breathed, still laughing between deep kisses as he was smothered by a frantic blond. "Seriously – _mmph_ – they'll be here any –"

A large crack sounded in the hallway and a voice screeched, " _Draco Lucius Malfoy!"_

Draco groaned against Harry's lips and rested his head against Harry's forehead. Harry froze in horror, shrinking under Draco's large frame and burying his hands in the lapels of Draco's robes, holding the blond over him.

"Hello, mother," Draco greeted, still looking into Harry's eyes and lips twisting in a smirk.

Harry felt his face grow ashen as the woman barked coldly, "Get up, you animal."

Kreacher could be heard whining in the background, clearly horrified that his failure to uphold his Chaperone duties was witnessed by Narcissa Malfoy _nee_ Black.

Draco sighed dramatically, gently unwrapping Harry's hands from his clothes and standing to his feet. He pulled the smaller man up with him and brushed dust off Harry's shoulders nonchalantly, as if completely undisturbed by the turn of events. Draco then turned to his mother and smiled, reaching out his arms to hug the affronted woman.

"Hello, mother," Draco began cheerfully, perhaps a little cheekily.

Narcissa reached out and slapped Draco abruptly, the sharp, loud noise echoing in the room. Harry felt himself tense immediately, the hairs on his arms rising as his mind grew feral. Narcissa stared at Draco for a few moments, oblivious to Harry's anger, as Draco scowled and looked away, cheek pink from her hand. She then released a broken sob, a heartbreaking sound of distress, and grabbed him tightly into a hug.

"Don't you 'hello mother' me, young man," Narcissa murmured into Draco's shoulder as they embraced warmly. "Not a word of any of this and then I get kidnapped from my own home! By an estranged elf, none the less. Oh, the cheek of you," she babbled into his frame, Draco's arms holding her tightly.

"I'm so sorry, mother," Draco soothed, running his hair over the woman's unusually unkept hair. "I wanted to tell you, I did. We just couldn't write you anything while you lived with _him_."

Narcissa pulled back from the embrace and held Draco at arm's length, studying his expression with a critical eye.

"We have much to discuss," Narcissa told Draco firmly. "I shall meet you in the library. Clean up and meet me there in ten minutes _precisely_." Narcissa then turned to Kreacher and raised an eyebrow. "I will deal with you later," she told the elf primly. "For now, fetch us tea service."

Kreacher nodded so quickly that his long ears flapped and he disapparated without another word.

Narcissa then straightened, brushing dust of the edge of her robes in disgust, and strolled to the library in regal grace.

Harry looked at Draco, stunned. Narcissa had not addressed him at all, neither speaking nor even looking at him during the entire ordeal. Harry wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. Clearly, the woman did not approve.

"She can be a bit… Much," Draco muttered awkwardly into the now silent hallway. "She is fairly protective of me and –"

"It's okay," Harry interrupted, suddenly exhausted and realising that the last thing he wanted to do was to be coldly ignored in his own home while he explained the situation to a block of ice. Though, Harry realised, Narcissa most likely considered the ancestral house to be rightfully hers.

"I understand, Draco, I really do," Harry continued, sighing. "I think. I've not had a mother to contend with, but I did grow up with my aunt fluttering over my cousin like a possessive, demented butterfly."

Draco looked up at Harry in surprise. Harry had never discussed his family before, nor his childhood pre-Hogwarts, despite Draco's attempts to bully, push and prod (and occasionally manipulate) stories from him.

"Shall we?" Draco asked softly, gesturing towards the hallway to the library. Harry shook his head, leaning against the wall for support as his mind slowed. The stress and activity of the past school term finally caught up with him, his carefully laid out plans now in action and he could rest for once. Harry couldn't wait to retreat to Sirius' room, to enjoy the soft mattress and pillows and not have to sneak out of bed before his other roommates awoke as he did in the Gryffindor dorm. Harry decided immediately that he would spend the first day of the holidays sleeping in.

"I'm really tired," Harry answered distantly, turning on his heel and making his way up the stairs. "Catch up with your mum. Kreacher will organise you a room. I'd advise against the topmost floor, the fourth that is. There's just access to the roof terrace, the owlry, and Sirius and Regulus' old rooms. I'll be up there. Make yourself at home," Harry called out behind him as he trudged up the stairs, too tired to look behind him at an undoubtedly affronted Draco.

Once Harry finally slipped into Sirius' room after what felt like an eternity of climbing stairs, he collapsed on the enormous four poster bed and instantly fell asleep.

* * *

"Masters Harry!" A voice squeaked from the side of Harry's bed. At first, Harry tried to open his eyes but he was blissfully floating in the boundary of sleep and he sighed into the comforter as he buried deeper into the warm linens.

"Masters Harry!" The voice repeated, more firmly. Harry groaned, knowing that Kreacher wasn't going to go away anytime soon. Not with that tone.

"I'm up," Harry groaned into a pillow.

"No, yous not being up! Get ups! Ups now!" Kreacher demanded petulantly, clearly in a bad mood. Harry wondered how on earth he had gone nearly sixteen years without parents before being bestowed a grouchy house elf as a mother. _It must be another cruel universe joke_ , Harry thought in despair.

"Fine, fine, fine," Harry grumbled, pulling himself up. "What time is it?"

"It's being nine in the morning! Masters Harry being very lazy," the elf berated as Harry blinked blearily at him through the morning light filtering into the bedroom.

Harry moaned miserably. "Nine am? Are you serious, Kreacher? It's the first day of holidays!" He protested, though he swung his feet over the side of the bed obediently. He allowed himself to be pushed by the back of his thighs into the ensuite bathroom, ignoring the elf's insane mutterings.

"Okay, geez," Harry whined, closing the door firmly behind him. Once the door was locked and Kreacher could be heard loudly disapparating out of the bedroom, Harry sighed and slid down the door. _Today is going to suck. So, so very much_ , Harry thought irritably, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes.

Harry finally worked up the energy to shave the five o'clock shadow on his jaw with a well-cast barber charm, use a considerable amount of hot water during his shower, and tidy himself fussily into a fairly decent state. He was grateful that the Black genes tamed his hair somewhat, though unless he spent a few minutes combing the tangled mess it still looked like a bird's nest. Harry fretted in the ensuite for a few minutes, realising that he had put off going downstairs for as long as possible and would have to face the music.

After dressing in his godfather's muggle jeans and one of Regulus' soft shirts (an outfit sure to affront Narcissa Malfoy's respectability), he trudged down the stairs. Even though he could apparate, he didn't particularly want to speed up the process and slowly took each step at a time. _Merlin, it's like I'm going to execution_ , Harry thought suddenly. He shook his head, exasperated, and steeled his nerves. _Gryffindor courage, my arse_ , he thought bitterly as he picked up the pace to the kitchens. _Clearly doesn't apply to bigoted, overprotective mother-in-laws_.

Harry walked into the kitchens with purpose and blanched, blinking in surprise. The large room was empty, save for a muttering Kreacher once more knitting by the hearth and rocking back and forth in a tiny rocking chair.

"Morning," Harry ventured.

Kreacher didn't look up at him and instead scowled, pearling ferociously. Harry had a moment of déjà vu, recalling the first night he and Kreacher met after Sirius' death. Clearly, the elf was still upset that Harry and Draco had embarrassed the Chaperone elf in front of 'Miss Cissy' the night before.

Harry walked over the elf and crouched down, leaning back on his haunches as Kreacher studiously ignored him. "I'm sorry, Kreacher," Harry whispered sincerely. "I didn't mean for you two to find us like that."

Kreacher's nostrils flared, but he kept his mouth sealed tightly as he rocked even harder.

"I know, I know," Harry murmured, looking at his elf through his eyelashes. "Shameful."

Kreacher looked at him then, slowing his rocking as his lips pursed and he arched invisible eyebrows imperiously. The elf then raised a tiny hand and whacked Harry on the top of his head harshly. Harry reared back in surprise and fell back on his bum, hands splayed behind him as he sprawled on the floor.

"Kreacher, stop hurting Harry," Draco announced as he breezed into the room. "It was my fault, anyway. Don't go neutering me or anything, though. Mother would have your head."

Harry blushed at Draco's flippant words, standing to his feet quickly and brushing dust off his jeans. "Hi," Harry said and then promptly blushed harder at the breathiness in his tone.

Draco turned to him, silver eyes glittering in amusement and lips quirking in a smile. "Hey," he answered, leaning against the kitchen table and crossing his ankles casually.

"None of that, yous!" Kreacher finally burst out into the silence. "Yous stop making eyes at each others right now!"

Draco's face twisted as he tried to hold back a snort of laughter, lips curling in on themselves as he sealed his mouth tightly. Harry smiled at him cheekily and walked over to the blond, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips and then quickly ducking back to the stoves.

Draco looked both surprised and pleased by Harry's forwardness, especially considering Harry very rarely initiated first contact. He sat down at the table as Harry started pulling out ingredients from the shelves and put a kettle on the stove to boil.

"What would you like for breakfast?" Harry asked Kreacher domestically, surveying the ingredients.

"Pancakes," the elf answered, returning to his knitting and rocking slowly.

"I've not met anyone who cooks _for_ their house elf," Draco quipped. Both Harry and Kreacher turned to stare at the blond, the latter with a dangerous expression darkening his tiny, wrinkled face.

"Kreacher's not _my_ house elf," Harry responded as he returned to the breakfast preparations. "He's practically an honorary Black. Besides, the least I can do is make him his favourite breakfast when he's mad at me."

Kreacher responded with an emotional sniffle at Harry's statement and the elf sneered wetly at Draco. Draco rolled his eyes and thanked Harry as a cup of tea was floated to the table.

Once the pancakes were flipped and the table set, Harry sat down at the table and Kreacher joined them. Draco kept his mouth shut as Kreacher glared at him from across the table, daring the blond to protest his presence at breakfast. Draco smiled politely (if not a little sneeringly) at the elf and Kreacher stuck his tongue out at the Malfoy heir when Harry wasn't looking.

Harry studiously ignored the warring elf and man, watching them out of the corner of his eye as they thought he didn't notice their childish behaviour. Harry looked up at the ceiling, begging the gods for patience, just as Narcissa walked into the kitchens.

The woman was considerably more composed than the night before. Her long, blonde hair flowed generously over her shoulders like a waterfall and her well-tailored robes were fitted to her in a modest, fashionable style. She was the epitome of pureblood beauty and class, making Harry feel suddenly uncomfortable and a little ashamed of the current shabbiness of Grimmauld Place.

Harry looked up at her through hooded eyes, dipping his head in acknowledgement as he stood to prepare her a cup of tea. The prim woman pursed her lips, nose flaring slightly as she sat next to Draco directly across from Kreacher and nodded curtly as Harry slid a cup of tea (in the house's finest china) before her. A warm plate of pancakes was placed in front of her as well and Harry felt himself cringe at the sight of Narcissa Malfoy sneering down her nose at disformed blueberry pancakes, looking as if she would rather eat Kreacher's tunic off the elf's quivering frame.

To Harry's surprise, the woman picked up her silverware with great practice, delicately slicing the food and placing a morsel in her mouth with elegant care. She breathed through her nose as if to steady herself and continued eating slowly. Harry sat down and looked down at his food, appetite vanishing under the awkward tension filling the silent room save for the clinking of china and silver.

A few moments passed as Narcissa appeared to struggle with her meal and Draco eating just as elegantly as his mother in effortless etiquette. The blond man seemed completely at ease in the room, as if used to strained family meals and taking the situation with stride. After Narcissa had barely eaten half her breakfast, Harry pushing bits of his food around moodily, the woman placed her silverware down and patted her lips with a fabric napkin.

"That was excellent, Mr. Potter," Narcissa announced stiltedly.

"Come off it, mother," Draco drawled, leaning back in his chair in amusement. "You hate pancakes. You think they're plebeian."

Narcissa looked at her son in irritation. "Whether or not I dislike pancakes has nothing to do with manners and thanking one's host. Sit up," she snapped. Draco laughed dismissively and leaned back further, legs sprawling under the table.

Harry jumped as he felt a foot sidle up against his, the soft fabric of a sock running along his ankle. He blushed deeply and studied his food, as if fascinated with the blueberries, though he felt marginally better at Draco's touch.

"And it is Potter-Black," Draco continued, unruffled. "He's technically your Lord, mother."

"I know that very well, Draco," Narcissa hissed, hackles rising at her son's impudence.

Harry and Kreacher shared meaningful, desperate looks, both shifting uncomfortably and itching to disapparate (damn the consequences).

"You are hardly being a gracious guest," Draco taunted his mother dismissively, his foot still rubbing soothingly against Harry's denim covered ankle. "I could cut the tension in the room with a spoon."

Narcissa stood so quickly that her chair toppled over behind her. She grabbed the collar of Draco's robes, ignoring the blond's appalled expression, and dragged him out of his chair. Despite being nearly a head shorter than her son, she pulled him with the practiced ease of manhandling one's child and began to pull him towards the door. Narcissa pushed the protesting blond through the doorway and turned to face an ashen Harry and a trembling Kreacher, expression disarmingly blank.

"I would like to request an audience with you both in the library, if you please," Narcissa stated politely, recovering effortlessly from her irritation and now playing the perfect part of pureblood guest.

Harry stared at the woman, a little frightened by her about-face, and she smiled wanly. He realised that Narcissa was making a point to Draco, showing her son that she could still behave with dignity even in the sorely lacking company of a half-blood and house elf. Harry felt even more nervous than before as Narcissa did not even pretend to hide the fact she was utterly resentful of the current situation and wore her gracious mask with alarming mockery. She then turned on her heel and pushed her son down the hallway.

Once both blonds were out of earshot, Kreacher slowly exhaled a deep breath he had been holding.

"Miss Cissy being _very_ angry," Kreacher whispered unhelpfully, tugging at his ears.

Harry turned wide, distressed eyes on his elf and shrugged helplessly. Kreacher made quick work of cleaning the dishes and they both took a moment to centre themselves before following the two Malfoys to the Black Library.


	22. Chapter 22: The Fish Rots From The Head

_Ah you guys are the best. Love that you're enjoying the story! I've finally discovered a modicum of plot, so the story will be directed firmly in that way from now on. In regards to Narcissa, I've always thought of her as an intense debutante-type housewife; I've read some excellent stories with Narcissa having more depth and motherly instincts, but my perception of her is that it basically takes a whole lot of stress and war to open her eyes and peel back the layers of her personality to get to the core. Title borrowed from a Neapolitan proverb. Hope you enjoy :)_

* * *

 _Harry turned wide, distressed eyes on his elf and shrugged helplessly. Kreacher made quick work of cleaning the dishes and they both took a moment to centre themselves before following the two Malfoys to the Black Library._

* * *

 **Chapter 22: The Fish Rots From The Head**

After an hour of Harry answering Mrs. Malfoy's terse questions and remaining dutifully polite, the matriarch finally seemed sated with Harry's story. She began to take a few minutes between each query, considering each angle of the story before shooting another difficult-to-answer question at the raven-haired man.

"How did you side-apparate Draco here?" Narcissa asked accusingly.

Harry frowned at her tone, but acquiesced. "Kreacher correctly pointed out that my inheritance is elvish and I should have capabilities beyond just my wizarding heritage, similar to how house elves do magic. Though we have very little in common with house elves, apparently High Elves express enough of a difference with wizarding magic that certain wards are fairly easy to circumvent. Kreacher has taught me a few tricks, which I plan to keep to myself if you don't mind."

Narcissa pursed her lips but nodded, expression bland.

"And, if I may ask, how is Draco a Veela, not elvish, when we share such similar blood?" Harry asked. Draco and Harry had discussed this not too long ago, but the blond man had shrugged and the topic was shelved for another day.

"Lucius' grandmother was Veela," Narcissa drawled lazily, as if the topic bored her greatly. "The Black family has a rather... _Expansive_ history of mating with magical creatures, not just High Elves. Lucius was attracted to me partially due to the fact I had inherited my family's Veela genes, which is obvious from my fair features despite my immediate family's dark complexions.

"Lucius and I never completed the full inheritance as either I did not have enough Veela running through my veins or we were never mates in the first place. It is my understanding that our Veela blood was compatible, however, resulting in Draco receiving a considerable amount of Veela blood and flesh. Your presence as his mate brought forth the full inheritance. It is indeed quite rare for a full inheritance to occur and especially uncommon to develop outside of pureblood ancestral homes."

Harry nodded and the trio sat quietly as they absorbing the past hour's worth of information.

"You have freed my son from the Dark Lord," Narcissa finally stated, breaking the deafening silence of the library.

"Not quite," Harry sighed discontentedly, shifting in his seat. "I have removed his _Mark_ , yes. But Draco will be hunted by the Dark Lord, by his Death Eaters. I don't even think Hogwarts will protect him now. Hogwarts has many spies and dangers, now, including even treasonous portraits and insidious possessions. To be honest, no one will be safe until I kill Voldemort."

Narcissa turned haunted eyes on Harry as Draco bristled at the statement, surprisingly neither flinching at Voldemort's name. "You're just a childe," she whispered at last. "You could not possibly stand up to the Dark Lord."

"I have to," Harry answered hollowly, looking across the room as he fell into thought. "I don't have a choice. Well, I do. This is my choice. This war needs to end. I won't have anything happening to Draco nor my friends."

Narcissa's nostrils flared as her eyes began to gleam in unshed tears. She reached across a small coffee table and grasped Harry's hand firmly. Harry jumped in surprise at her unexpected touch, turning to face Narcissa with apprehension.

"I will not pretend I like you," Narcissa breathed, her expression harried. "But if you can protect my son – well, that is all I will ever ask of you."

"With my life," Harry promised solemnly, holding her hand tightly.

"Absolutely not," Draco butt in, furious.

"Hush," Narcissa hissed, still holding Harry's hand as she looked at her son in silent warning. "This is a conversation between your mother and your mate."

Draco scowled darkly, his face shadowed with irritation. "Anywhere Harry goes, anything Harry does, I'll be there," he stated, brooking no room for argument.

"As I expect," Narcissa sighed, looking weary as she finally released Harry's hand and she leaned back into the deep emerald, velvet settee. "But at least let your mother take comfort in the illusion that you shall be kept out of harm's way."

Draco pursed his lips and looked down. "Nothing will happen, mother," he began.

"Don't you dare say that to me!" Narcissa interrupted coldly, her sudden outburst making both men jump. "I never approved of your father joining _that man_. I told him of this eventuality! He never listened to me, always assuring me that _nothing would happen_. Now look at us! Huddling like frightened sheep in the moulding ancestral home of my extinct heritage. Lucius feeding the dementors while rotting in a cell. Our estate and titles at the disposal of a madman. Our honour and name in the mud. The entirety of Britain society against us. Something _always_ happens, child," she bit out, angrily leaping to her feet and walking over to stand before a tall window. She crossed her arms and exhaled shakily.

Draco stared at his mother's back in poorly concealed shock. Harry realised that he had probably never heard his mother speak this way. Narcissa was clearly at the end of her rope, splintering under the stress like a ship battered by a storm.

"I find," Narcissa continued softly after a beat of silence, voice distant. "That the more this madman pursues his goals, the more he fights for blood purity, the smaller and smaller the world becomes, even for us. I have been a faithful advocate of the tenet, the _doctrine_ ," she spat scathingly, "of blood purity my entire life. And yet I find it is myself running away from persecution. We all are. I fear that there is no world in which the Dark Lord survives and the wizarding world as well."

Harry frowned at her words. Part of him felt very little sympathy for her plight; she had fought for the inhumane regulation of muggleborns and half-bloods even before he was born. If Narcissa had her way, Hermione's wand would be snapped in a heartbeat, her magic bound and mind obliviated. Tossed back to the muggle word with little fanfare or heart.

But Harry instinctively knew it was better to evolve later rather than never. And if he could convince Narcissa Malfoy, a figurehead of pureblood supremacy, to join his side… Then maybe he did have a chance in turning the tide of the war.

"I know I am not alone in feeling this," Narcissa added suddenly, gazing blankly out of the large, arched window.

"What do you want from me?" Harry asked, sensing the Malfoy matriarch was angling the conversation. Draco turned to him, appalled by his blunt tone, but Harry had spent enough time in the presence of Dumbledore's manipulations to sense a catch and was in no mood to play games anymore.

Narcissa laughed. Though it was a light tinkling sound that echoed like chimes through the library, there was a dark, unkind edge in her tone. "Your fiancée is smarter than I thought, my child," she directed to Draco, turning to face Harry with a wicked look on her face.

Harry realised in that moment that Draco's infamous smirk was inherited from his mother, not his father as he once presumed. She looked exactly like Draco, pleased and amused in a darkly humorous sort of way. Narcissa's Black heritage shone through her hooded eyes and Harry felt immediately stupid for having underestimated this so-called trophy wife.

"You will reinstate my title as Black," Narcissa crooned, demanding rather than requesting. Draco inhaled sharply, silver eyes flickering between Harry's confused expression and Narcissa's determined stance. Draco leaned back in his leather Chesterfield lounge, his thumb pressed against lips thoughtfully. He watched his mother like a hawk, silver Veela eyes glowing eerily in the dreary library.

"How so?" Harry asked, sitting forward and resting his elbows on his knees, fingers threading together loosely.

"Purebloods do not get _divorced_ , as is all the rage now," Narcissa scoffed disparagingly, turning back to the window and glowering darkly at the thick fog hovering ominously in Islington's streets. "Pureblood women must always have a House. Should they decide their marriage is no longer successful nor useful, they may decide to revert to their birthright. If our Lord will have us."

Harry looked at Draco for help, but the young man was staring blankly down at an ornate Persian rug, gruesome battle scenes playing out on the floor, and looked to be in a stupor. Harry cleared his mind and mulled over her words, leaning heavily on his training with his governess to understand Madam Malfoy's intentions.

"You will leave Lucius Malfoy, in body, mind, and title," Harry began slowly. "And you want me to take you back under the umbrella of House Black. What will become of Draco?"

"He will always carry his father's name," Narcissa answered shortly, her tone tinted in vicious victory. "He would have been declared a bastard should I have left prior to his full creature inheritance or seventeenth birthday, but Draco is now considered a legal adult by British law. Lucius may decide to disown him, but as a convicted felon of performing forbidden Dark Arts and treason against the Crown, there is very little possibility of Ministry barristers supporting Lucius' side in an inheritance suit. Especially now that Draco is unmarked."

Narcissa turned gleaming, shrewd eyes on Harry. He could feel the woman's pleasure rolling off her from across the room. It was clear that this was something she had planned of, dreamt of, for a long time.

"And should he ever lay a finger on Draco, I will skin him myself," Narcissa whispered, her mouth tasting each word with pleasure. Harry felt the dark magic dripping sensually from those words, a promise and threat in one, and Harry felt relieved that he had yet to truly be on this woman's bad side.

"On one condition," Harry agreed abruptly.

Draco revived from his catatonic state and watched Harry reproachfully. Narcissa's eyes narrowed, but she gestured for him to continue.

"You will make an Unbreakable Oath," Harry stated firmly, a little wary of Draco's reaction.

As expected, Draco leapt to his feet and snarled, "That's _ridiculous_ , Harry. She's my _mother._ "

"It is smart," Narcissa contradicted, huffing exasperatedly at her son's behaviour. "In this day, one cannot afford to question who one's allies are."

Draco seemed to deflate at his mother's words and he crumpled back into his leather seat, dropping his head into his hands and running long fingers through white-blond hair.

"We will discuss this at length. We'll all agree on the oath first and have time to consider," Harry assured Draco warmly, reaching over to place a pale hand on Draco's knee. For the first time in months, Draco glared at him and swotted the hand away sharply.

Harry retracted his hand in surprise and held the stinging appendage close to his chest, feeling the scars on the back of his hand tingle unpleasantly. He felt something strange twist in his chest at Draco's foul mood, his mind churning with anxiety. Harry knew that Draco would be upset, especially considering his godfather's life lay on the line from an Unbreakable Oath. Harry sighed, realising he'd have to give up his ace to ease Draco's concerns, and turned back to Narcissa.

"Write something up, please," Harry asked tiredly. He knew that asking Narcissa to take the lead in the oath made the entire exercise fairly redundant, seeing as the woman was clearly clever enough to weave layers of loopholes that Harry would never consider in his wildest dreams. But Harry planned on sending a copy to Hermione and Narcissa wouldn't stand a chance against his best friend's precocity.

Draco seemed somewhat mollified by Harry's approach to the oath and stopped pulling his hair, leaning back into the lounge and pursing his lips thoughtfully.

"I will," Narcissa agreed coolly, studying her long nails with dismissive nonchalance.

Harry frowned as Draco stood abruptly. Harry whispered a goodbye to Draco, who ignored him and slammed the door to the library behind his retreating form.

"He's very protective," Narcissa murmured, looking at Harry through hooded eyes. "And dramatic," she added, an eyebrow raised disapprovingly. "There may be no lost love between his father and I. However, you must understand that Draco cares for his father deeply. Seeing both of us in a prison cell, whether physical or magical, will be distressing."

Harry nodded distractedly, looking at the place Narcissa had stood moments before as the woman followed her son out of the room. Harry rubbed his forehead with his palm as the door closed and wished desperately that everything could be simple.

* * *

Sunday, the third day at Grimmauld Place, turned out to be most bizarre. Hermione sent Harry an owl very early in the morning, begging him to meet her in person. As he had instructed, she wrote to _The Master of The House, Ancestral House of Black,_ though Harry found himself a little suspicious of the letter _._ He sent a messenger spell (and thankful he had told her of his new patronus while at Hogwarts) directing her to Highbury Field park in Islington. He suggested that she use muggle transport, especially now that she was a household name since the Battle of the Ministry. Harry snuck out of the house at five to eight, waiting anxiously under his invisibility cloak for the girl to appear along the sidelines of Highbury Field.

Hermione finally dismounted from a wheezing city bus mid-morning, thanking the driver politely and wringing her wrists on a tree lined path as she waited for Harry to arrive. Harry snuck up to her and reached his magic out through a gap in the cloak's folds to feel her aura. She felt exactly like Hermione and even had the same mannerisms, though she looked exhausted and her eyes were ringed with red, as if she had spent the day crying.

Harry slowly pulled off his cloak once there was a break of foot traffic in their part of the park, coming into view carefully.

They both surveyed one another sceptically, Hermione's hand palming her wand hidden up her sleeve. Harry didn't bother, trusting his wandless magic enough now to not need a wand for a fight. Well, against most.

"During the adventure in first year, how did we get the key for the door?" Hermione called out suddenly, her voice rough and scratchy.

Harry shifted his weight on the balls of his feet from the other side of the path, keeping his eyes trained on her as muggle joggers passed by.

"By broom," Harry responded at length as she began to shift nervously. "What is the answer to the riddle the sphinx gave me in the maze?"

"Spider," Hermione answered steadily. "What was Dumbledore's secret weapon?" She asked quickly, appearing a little less stressed but still not relaxing. Harry felt pride swell in his chest at her defiant, strong stance.

"Grawp," Harry answered, smiling now. "What is Skeeter's Animagus?"

"Beetle," Hermione answered breathlessly, ducking between curious muggles strolling by on the path and leaping into his arms. "Oh, Harry," she sobbed against his chest.

"It's okay," Harry soothed as he held her tightly, though a little alarmed by her behaviour. He pulled her away from the path and once he was sure no one could see them, he wrapped the invisibility cloak around their shoulders.

"I – my – something happened," Hermione babbled as Harry griped her tightly, focusing on Grimmauld Place. They popped into existence in the entrance hall with a loud bang and Hermione swayed on her feet at the strange feeling of side-apparition. Harry pulled off the cloak quickly and stuffed it into the jinxed troll leg umbrella stand at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

Draco trotted to the base of the stairs and he blanched at the sight of Hermione.

"Granger," he stated, tone cool.

"Malfoy," Hermione whispered in response, her voice and body trembling. Harry grabbed her arm and smiled weakly at Draco as he dragged her past the blond. While Draco had mostly warmed up to him again since the conversation in the library, Harry could tell that Draco was displeased with Hermione's presence and was irritated that he wasn't informed of her arrival. Harry felt Draco's eyes burn on his back as the blond watched them curve down the hall toward the library.

Only once they had settled on a large settee amongst the dusty tomes, Hermione began to calm. Hermione tucked her legs under her and pressed her head against the crook of Harry's neck, his arm wrapping over her shoulders comfortingly.

Hermione breathed deeply and steadily, slowly taking control of her tremors.

"What happened?" Harry asked slowly, once he was certain Hermione wasn't about to burst into tears.

"My parents – they – they don't know," Hermione whispered, bushy hair curling into Harry's face. He tenderly pressed it down and squeezed her shoulder, encouraging her to speak. "They don't know about the war, but they've seen the signs that the other muggles have. They've recognised them as omens. They were really scared, Harry."

Harry listened as concern creased his face, her hollow tone worrying.

"We got a letter last night, a really nasty one," Hermione continued even quieter. "My mum almost opened it, but I've taught them to put all letters in a pentagram before touching them. I drew it at the end of the summer underneath the letter hole at the front door, before I went to the Weasleys. Mum was really annoyed by it, but dad insisted we didn't cover it up. He's always been a little more understanding about the magic thing, I guess.

"Mum reached for it, but knocked it with her foot into the pentagram. It must have missed the pentagram by just a few millimetres when it was delivered. The letter blew up. Mum almost lost her fingers," Hermione choked out, shivering violently.

Harry felt a wave of horror rip through his chest. He had never considered that the Grangers would be targeted, but it made complete sense. Hermione was walking around with a painted bullseye on her back, so her family would be too.

Hermione forged on. "Dumbledore came by at the beginning of the summer. He Fidelus'd a room in the house for me to practice magic in and for my parents to hide if anyone came… _Knocking_. I didn't tell anyone because there was just so much going on and it's always best to keep those sorts of things a secret." At this, Hermione seemed to be unable to speak further.

Harry pulled away from the brunette and carefully held her hands, watching her face crumple in agony and regret.

"What did you do, Hermione?" Harry asked, a strange feeling stirring in his gut.

"I obliviated them, Harry," Hermione whispered so quietly that he had to lean forward to hear her almost inaudible words. Harry jerked back and stared at her in surprise. "I can't – _I can't_ tell them about the war. This is my world, not theirs, and they've already been through so much with sending me to school and seeing me change and not being able to relate to me anymore. I obliviated them and sent them off to Australia. They'll sell the house through an agent. Once they do, they'll have enough funds to live there comfortably for a couple years or so without work. And I'm sure they'll be able to get a visa there; from what I've heard, dentists are high on the immigration list. They could probably set up a practice and settle there for good."

At this point, Hermione was babbling excuses and reasons. Harry quickly silenced her by grabbing her trembling shoulders in a tight hug.

"You'll be staying with me from now on," Harry finally said, voice firm. "I understand why you did it, Hermione. Merlin, you're the strongest person I know."

Hermione listened to his platitudes with watery eyes and she smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you so much, Harry," she said, voice cracking. "I really don't know what to do."

"Nothing," Harry laughed, leaning back into the sofa. "It's Christmas break, 'Mione. Let's not do anything, okay?"

Hermione nodded and smiled a little brighter than before. "Is it alright if I take the room Ginny and I stayed in last time?"

"Oh, uh," Harry started suddenly, shifting uncomfortably. "Mrs. Malfoy is in there now."

Hermione stared at Harry with wide eyes. "You mean – wait. Malfoy is not just visiting. He's staying here? With his _mother_?"

Harry sighed, a long-suffering noise of despair. "Yeah. And it's so much worse than it sounds. I have _so_ much to tell you, 'Mione," he groaned wearily.


	23. Chapter 23: The Leopard's Spots

_I love Auld Lang Syne - would recommend listening to a choir version at the end of the chapter to capture the whole effect! Let me know what you think..._

* * *

 _Harry sighed, a long-suffering noise of despair. "Yeah. And it's so much worse than it sounds. I have so much to tell you, 'Mione," he groaned wearily._

* * *

 **Chapter 23: The Leopard's Spots**

Harry was unsurprised to discover that having Hermione in the house made Grimmauld Place less gloomy. This was mostly due to the fact that Mrs. Malfoy spent every waking minute avoiding Hermione, whether because to her blood prejudice or guilt over her husband's actions (or both), Harry didn't know. As Harry spent all of his time with Hermione, he found himself rarely running into Mrs. Malfoy. Draco tried at first to demand that Hermione give them some alone time, but Harry felt the Stake pulling them closer and closer with each passing week and firmly kept the brunette glued to his side.

Upon admitting to Kreacher that he was having a difficult time staying away from Draco, Kreacher informed Harry that Yuletide and New Year's Eve were both very magical holidays indeed and the original Claim was most likely being fed by the ancient magic. Harry had promptly blushed then, realising that the Stake was nearing completion. _Claiming indeed_ , Harry had thought with a shiver.

Christmas passed with little fanfare. Harry had strengthened the wards around the house so no owls or messages could be delivered, concerned about any communication or cursed parcels that the group of four may receive. Narcissa was furious when she discovered this, sure that her good friends would be sending her gifts and was furious that the returning owls would be seen as snubbing their attentions. Harry had patiently explained his reasoning, but the woman seemed unconcerned with her own safety (let alone the safety of the others in the house, with the exception of Draco) and spent the holiday sulking.

Draco and his mother appeared to be more and more agitated as the days slowly melted by. It was New Year's Eve when the tension finally broke, Narcissa throwing the tantrum of all tantrum – one that made even Dudley's fits look like child's play. Narcissa was barred from going to see the Wild Hunt and its celebrations at the stroke of midnight, a rather famous albeit rare spectacle put on by the Fairy King. Narcissa had been invited earlier in the year and she appeared intent on attending, practically destroying the west wing of the house when Draco broke the news.

Late in the evening, just after eleven at night, Harry and Hermione cowered in the library during Narcissa's fit of rage, hiding behind dusty tomes and trying to ignore the sound of Draco attempts to reason with her. A loud _bang_ rang out through the hall and a few paintings squabbled angrily, appalled at the destruction.

"She's insane," Hermione muttered, eyes wide as saucers as a crash sounded in the level above.

Harry hummed his agreement, lips sealed tight as he thought about Narcissa's behaviour and annoyed that they had to spend New Year's Eve trapped in the library. From what little he had seen of Narcissa, she reminded him of an impossibly rich, high-strung version of Aunt Petunia. The thought made him shudder.

A large _crack!_ sounded in the library and Harry turned to a trembling Kreacher.

"Masters Harry," Kreacher gasped, pulling on his ears and stomping his feet in distress. "Miss Cissy be on the warpath to destroys the curio cabinets!"

Harry's eyes widened as he realised that Narcissa was about to blow up the only container they had for holding Voldemort's horcruxes. Frustration spread through his gut as his backbone finally decided to make an appearance and he quickly pulled on his overcoat. Harry snarled in irritation at the sound of another crash, deciding immediately that this needed to stop _right now_.

Harry apparated directly in front of the curio cabinets, feeling the rooms shift slightly as his magic filled each corner and crevice of the room. Draco stood in the hallway, wringing his wrists and face pale as he watched Harry pin Narcissa with a dangerous glare. Narcissa turned to him, hair awry and clothes askew, madness glittered in her eyes. Harry internally sighed, now well familiar with Black insanity and in no mood to tolerate the point she was attempting to make.

"Madam Malfoy," Harry purred into the darkened room, tone colder than ice. "I would appreciate it if you stopped destroying my house."

Narcissa laughed; it was a high-pitched, insane sound. Harry flinched as the cackle reverberated and bounced off the high ceilings. It echoed and triggering a memory of the Ministry, normally buried deep within Harry's psyhce. For a moment, Harry was standing before the Veil, watching LeStrange laugh as Sirius fell through the Death Arch. A burst of cold ice exploded in his chest, filling his veins with hatred and disgust.

"Your house? _Your house_? This is _my house_ , you insignificant little –" Narcissa was cut off by a roar of fury from Draco and she turned around in surprise, looking at her son with the beginnings of fear.

Harry held up his hand to calm Draco, who appeared ready to tackle his mother, and the blond settled on glaring at her with venom. Draco's lips twisted and he turned away, nostrils flaring. Narcissa seemed to deflate at her son's rage and she turned back to Harry with sudden apprehension.

"Yes, my house, Madam _Malfoy_ ," Harry emphasised darkly. "Your formal complaint has been lodged, thank you for your feedback," Harry sneered in derision. Narcissa flinched at his tone and opened her mouth with a foul expression but Harry forged on, ruthlessly cutting Narcissa off before she could speak.

"If you choose to leave this house, no one will stop you. But I will _not_ tell you this house's address and I will not send anyone after you to bring you back. Draco might try to convince me to, but he's looking less and less interested in supporting you by the second. Should you leave, I will _not_ come after you and I will stop Draco and Kreacher from retrieving you as well," Harry purred coldly, watching as Narcissa blanched at his bluntness. "Leave, return to your Manor, dear," Harry crooned.

Draco looked at Harry irritably then, clearly unimpressed that the raven-haired man was taunting his mother but torn between which side to take.

Narcissa appeared conflicted as well, suddenly unsure if she could call on his bluff.

"No?" Harry pressed cruelly, watching the normally elegant woman waffle and look between Draco and Harry. "I'm not your husband, Madam Malfoy, nor am I some servant sent to watch over you in a high tower. I will not have you throwing childish tantrums over social gatherings that will cost you your life. Get out of this room and never come back. And clean up your mess," Harry hissed dangerously.

Narcissa's nostrils flared, but she seemed unable to speak in the face of Harry's fury. She turned on her heel and waved her wand petulantly, the shattered mirrors and splintered wood slowly rising and returning to their previous positions. Narcissa passed Draco with her nose high in the air and the hallway portraits could be heard muttering angrily as they were righted.

Draco looked at Harry in awe, silver eyes reflecting in the low candlelight. "I have never seen anyone speak to my mother like that," he breathed.

Harry rolled his eyes. "It was about time," Harry grumbled as he looked at the room, checking that Narcissa hadn't damaged the cabinets.

Draco laughed then, a disbelieving sound of wonder. "You're incredible. If you'd been anyone else, she would have skinned you."

Harry laughed a little bitterly and the tension in the room broke. "I'm sure."

"What's so important in here that you basically threatened to throw my mother out like a tramp?" Draco suddenly asked, looking around the room curiously.

Harry felt a stab of terror lance his heart, but he kept his expression relaxed and voice light. "Just a few dark artefacts in the curio cabinets. I don't want to spend the New Year cleaning up residual dark magic from the fallout."

Draco looked less than appeased, but he smiled at Harry warmly. Harry felt a twist in his stomach, a fluttering that was growing stronger with each day, and smiled back a little unsurely as a blush dusted his cheeks. Draco's smile grew, though it was more smirk than mirth, and Harry blinked at the blond's sudden ravenous expression in confusion.

"I don't understand how you can go from terrifying war-mage to meek teenager in a few minutes," Draco laughed, mischief glittering in his eyes. "You're a lamb and wolf in one, you know that?"

Harry looked at Draco curiously, watching the blond man approach him with a slow, predatory gait. Draco suddenly stood before him and bent his head down, crowding Harry's personal space.

" _And_ you're terrible at lying," Draco whispered conspiratorially, molten silver eyes swirling hypnotically as Harry watched him warily through his eyelashes.

Harry scowled, irritated that Draco had seen through his excuse. "I'm actually quite good at lying," Harry answered petulantly, jutting his jaw out. "Besides, it's not my fault you Slytherins think everyone's as devious as you."

Draco chuckled deeply, the blond's chest so close that Harry could feel the vibrations in his bones. Harry breathed through his nose sharply as Draco's hooded eyes bored into his own, expression dangerous. Soft lips dusted over Harry's mouth and he felt his eyes flutter softly closed as Draco teased him lightly, teeth tugging gently on his bottom lip, pleasure blooming in his lower abdomen. Warm hands slowly wrapped around Harry's waist and Harry ran his fingertips down the blond's chest.

"What do you think you're doing?" Harry whispered, trying to be irritated but melting helplessly as Draco continued nipping and running his nose against Harry's jawline in featherlight strokes.

"Hush," Draco murmured, pressing small kisses to Harry's lips and gently brushing his jaw against Harry's cheeks. The soft movements caused a pleased buzzing in Harry's head, the elvish creature Harry had become accustomed to feeling purring with pleasure in the back of his mind. Harry sighed as his posture relaxed under Draco's chaste, gentle teasing and he breathed in the musky, sweet smell of Draco's skin. Harry caught Draco's lips and kissed back lightly, holding onto Draco's robes tightly.

Just as Harry felt himself about to be carried away, a jolt of recollection breezed through his mind and he came to instantly. He pushed against Draco's chest and whispered miserably, " _Not here_."

Draco pulled back, eyes alight with victory and amusement. "Telling the truth, you say? Just a few dark artefacts, indeed."

Harry blushed, realising he had been caught out. "That's playing dirty," Harry stated, scowling. "Besides, you don't want to know. Please don't come in here, not ever. Trust me on this."

Draco appraised Harry curiously, molten silver eyes peering through blond lashes as he studied Harry's expression.

"You don't have to hide anything from me," Draco finally murmured, expression firm.

"I wish I didn't," Harry answered.

Draco pursed his lips and drew further back. "Always must have the last word," Draco muttered, narrowing his eyes at Harry.

Harry smiled at him then, knowing Draco wasn't actually mad at him. "Mm, you too, I see. We could go on and on like this," Harry retorted teasingly.

"No flirting!" Roared a voice from the doorway. Harry and Draco deflated, the voice now long ingrained in their psyche and causing a twitch to develop in Harry's eyebrow.

"No flirting?" Draco asked bitterly, turning to a furious Kreacher. Draco slipped behind Harry and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, perching his head on the raven-haired head. "This isn't flirting," Draco sneered condescendingly, holding Harry close to his chest. "No wonder Winky rejected your affections; you know nothing about seduction, do you?"

Harry blushed at Draco's words, embarrassed that the blond was using Kreacher's weakness against the elf and watching helplessly. Kreacher scowled and Draco growled back territorially. The bitter war between the house elf and the Slytherin had become increasingly intense with each passing day and Harry found himself caught uncomfortably in the middle. Draco was becoming defiant in the face of Harry's Chaperone, challenging the role, and Kreacher appeared to be furious by his slowly evaporating control over the blond.

"You's a bad man!" Kreacher roared finally, stomping his feet and running into the room. The elf grabbed Harry's hand and pulled harshly. Draco held Harry even closer and the younger man gaped as he was pulled into a horrible game of tug-of-war.

"No," Draco retorted abruptly, reaching out and slapping Kreacher's little hand.

"Draco!" Harry gasped, watching as Kreacher squawked and retracted the appendage.

The room fell into uncomfortable silence as Harry fluttered in Draco's grasp, Kreacher's beady eyes narrowing at Draco. Harry could feel Draco's body tense in response, the frustration and anger coming to a peak between the elf and man.

"The curio cabinets," Harry stated suddenly.

Kreacher looked at Harry in surprise. "Oh," the elf responded, deflating instantly. "Yes, the curio cabinetsies," Kreacher whispered. The elf then turned on his heel and marched out of the room. He disapparated the moment he passed the threshold with a loud _crack!_

Draco tilted Harry's face up towards his own, the large hand on Harry's jaw holding the raven's head in place. "What just happened?" Draco asked, confused. "Kreacher was two minutes away from ripping my head off. Where's he gone now?"

Harry sighed. "There's some really black magic in the cabinets, Draco. It's influencing our behaviour. I think that's why your mum's tantrum escalated when she was in here. Kreacher gets agitated too. It doesn't affect me as badly, but it would explain what's going on."

Draco looked at Harry in consideration, face tensing as he mulled over Harry's words. "But I can see the runes on the cabinets from here. Nothing should be seeping out, not with those containment charms," Draco murmured, voice thoughtful as he released Harry's jaw.

"I'll explain when we get out of here," Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. If the black magic was strong enough to reach out and affect people even in quarantine, then the horcruxes were much stronger than he originally thought. It was going to be a nightmare to try and destroy them.

Draco nodded and quickly pulled Harry out of the room, closing the door. Harry turned to the solid wood door frame and his nostrils flared as he sensed the black magic seep curiously through the airgap. How he hadn't noticed before, Harry didn't know. But it was a mistake that he shouldn't be making and he internally berated himself for the oversite.

Harry raised his hand and passed his fingers over the doorframe, keeping a few centimetres of air between his hand and the wood. Harry closed his eyes in concentration as he focused on the warding runes he had studied with Hermione, magic reaching out and carving into the dark mahogany.

A light blue glowed briefly as he ran his hands over the entire frame and casing, runic characters burning into the wood with heatless flame and branding the scuffed wood. Harry summoned a container of rock salt from the kitchen as he did so, reaching out and catching the glass bottle as he focused on the warding. After the frame finished smoking and the blue light had died away, Harry carefully guided his magic to lift the grains of salt from the bottle and dust the bottom of the door and the top of the door header.

The salt melted and hissed upon coming in contact with the dark magic and, like a vacuum, the black magic was sucked back into the room instantly as the door sealed tightly. A light, electric blue veil dropped from the door header, opalescent and translucent, a light fabric made of woven magic and rune anchors.

Draco watched with wide eyes, mouth dropping open as the veil unfurled and fluttered in a non-existent draft.

"What is _that_?" Draco asked as he gaped, studying the runes closely. "I didn't even think you knew runes. You're not in our class?" He asked unsurely, turning to Harry with a crease in his brow.

"Hermione's been teaching me," Harry answered tiredly, leaning against the blond. "I've got most of the theory right, but it's the execution that wears me out. I tend to overpower the runes so I waste a lot of magic. The elvish magic helps a lot too, but I hate doing this kind of stuff," he muttered, looking at the warding with a frown.

"It's amazing, Harry," Draco whispered. "You'll have to teach me this."

Harry smiled at Draco, resting his head against the blond's shoulder and breathing in the man's comforting scent. "You'll have to ask Hermione. She's the one that found this for me."

Draco blanched, looking down at Harry with a sneer blooming on his face.

"Don't even start," Harry stated, pulling away from the blond and stretching his aching muscles. "If it's not nice, I don't want to hear it."

"Well, you're definitely mated to the wrong man, then," Draco laughed, raising his eyebrows as he looked at Harry.

"Well, you could keep quiet for the rest of our lives," Harry whispered wistfully, gazing off dreamily into the distance as he imagined a quiet, unconfrontational future.

"Rest of our lives?" Draco breathed.

Harry looked at him in surprise. "Oh," Harry stated, processing his own words. "Well, you know. Because of the whole mated thing. I don't know about you, but I think this whole dating thing is going pretty well," Harry added uncomfortably, the conversation turning unexpectedly serious.

Draco smiled at him then, a smile so pure and unlike his normal dark expressions that Harry felt his breath catch in his chest. "Yeah," Draco whispered, eyes glittering in the darkness. "I think it's going pretty well too."

Harry felt butterflies erupt in his stomach and he smiled shyly back at Draco. He hummed his agreement and reached out to lace his fingers with Draco's.

Draco leaned forward and pressed another soft kiss to Harry's lips, the raven sighing into the gentle touch.

Draco pulled back and smirked at him, eyes alight with mischief. "I could be leading you on for my nefarious ways, you know," Draco teased. "Once you're stuck with me, I could turn into a monster that would make even Kreacher look pleasant."

"I have no doubt about that," Harry retorted playfully, biting on his lips as they threatened to break into a smile despite his serious tone. "I'm sure you're bad to the bone."

Draco laughed, pulling Harry down the hallway with a warm hand. Just as they started to walk down the hallway side by side, the portraits in the hallway crossed their arms and held the hands of the other portraits. A low, melodious song began to build, echoing through the house with joyous resonance.

" _Auld Lang Syne_ ," Draco whispered at Harry's confused expression, lips quirking in quiet happiness as the song began to build.

"It's beautiful," Harry whispered back, listening to the portraits sing in harmony and expression wondrous as the volume grew with each verse. The song echoed through the house, filling each cranny and nook of the dark household with warm tranquillity.

Draco turned to Harry as the song built in tempo, warm hands wrapping around the raven's neck as Draco lowered his head slowly. A resounding, heated kiss was pressed to Harry's lips, the smaller man inhaling softly at the fierce tenderness and claim.

Draco pulled back, his eyes creased in happiness and soft lips curved upwards. "Happy New Year, Harry," he murmured.

Harry looked up at the blond, genuine joy and pleasure filling his bones, and he smiled in return.

"Harry!" A voice boomed behind him, barely heard over the increasing volume of the hymn. Harry turned in surprise and caught sight of a very ruffled, flustered Phineas Nigellus Black pushing an unnamed member of the Black family out of a picture frame and waving at him frantically.

Harry leant close to the frame to hear the Phineas over the deafening crescendo of the anthem, rattled by the ill appearance of the normally well-kept Black patriarch.

"Dumbledore's dead! Severus – killed him! Death Eaters overrunning the school – coming out of the Room of Requirement!" Phineas gasped as he tried to regain his breath.

Harry reared back, face ashen and body reeling with shock. _The Room of Requirement – the Vanishing Cabinet!_ Harry thought in horror. He looked at Draco then, who hadn't heard the announcement, and stared at him in heart-breaking betrayal.

"What's wrong?" Draco yelled over the now ear-splitting volume of _Auld Lang Syne_ , expression concerned.

Harry did the only thing he could think of through his mind-numbing horror, the emotion washing away his brief happiness in an instant. He disapparated.


	24. Chapter 24: Rose Reincarnate

_Not much longer to go, now! Thanks to everyone for your lovely reviews - you make me so happy :3 Up to this point, this story has been (mostly) T rated, but this chapter will definitely earn the M. Chapter title borrowed from a line of Ginsberg's 'Howl'.  
_

 _ **Warnings** : lemon (or lime? I can never remember) ahead! I'd advise against reading if this offends you or you're underage - just skip the last half of the chapter. Let me know what you think; it's my first slash, so pointers and/or advice would be helpful :)_

 _ _A/N: Sorry for the repost - had to whittle it down a bit & change some things__

* * *

 _Harry did the only thing he could think of through his mind-numbing horror, the emotion washing away his brief happiness in an instant. He disapparated._

* * *

 **Chapter 24: Rose Reincarnate  
**

Harry apparated to his room, barely long enough to grab his knapsack, then popped between the bookshelves of the Black library and startling Hermione and Kreacher as they sang along to the chorus of _Auld Lang Syne._ Harry distantly felt tears wash down his face as he grabbed Hermione's hand and disapparated once more. They stopped briefly as Harry caught his breath, though rarely long enough to recognise the scenery, the landscape washing by as Hermione gasped and Harry forged on.

Tower Bridge, Cambridge Castle, Wallaton Hall, Bolsover Castle, a bank of River Aire, Barnard Castle, the forests of Kielder – the scenes flying by as Harry pushed himself harder than he'd ever before, not sure where he was even going. Hermione tugged on his hand, desperately trying to get Harry to stop apparating, but he couldn't. His mind focused on one location after another, jumping steadily north across the landscape in mindless desperation to _escape_.

Harry finally collapsed on a cold beach of Aberdeen, the cold North Sea wind whipping their hair and wrapping around their cold frames.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled over the wailing noise of the wind and waves, the darkness of the hour enclosing them both tightly. "What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione shouted over the screaming wind.

Harry trembled and looked at Hermione in despair. "He did it, Hermione. He's one of them," Harry cried weakly, knowing the brunette wouldn't hear him over the sound of the storm. Icy wind cut through their frames, neither dressed well enough to battle the elements of winter in Scotland. "He's one of _them_!"

"Who's what, Harry?" Hermione yelled back. "Oh, damn it, Harry! Take us somewhere reasonable, please!" Hermione screamed, stomping a foot while wrapping arms around her trembling frame.

Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and focused on an heirloom house of the Black ancestral trust. He was grateful he'd looked at his inheritance, for it was the only location other than Hogwarts itself he knew of in the Scottish Highlands. And now that Hogwarts was now annexed by Voldemort, there was no way Harry was walking into that trap.

Harry focused on Glenmore Forest Park, grabbing Hermione's hand and apparating with extreme effort. Hermione tripped as Harry lost balance and they tumbled down a bank, rolling down the wet grass with cries of displeasure. They finally stopped at the bank of a river, the carved edge looming down into churning water. The half-moon flickered between dark storm clouds, heavy wind screaming through the plains. Hermione jumped to her feet and pulled an exhausted Harry towards a small watermill. They finally broke through the front door, landing in a heap in the dark room.

As if sensing their presence, candles burst into life and a large entrance hall came into view. Unlike the small, unsuspecting exterior of the watermill, the entrance hall of the building was larger than even the entire appearance of the building from the exterior.

"Black holiday house," Harry gasped, clutching at his side as a stich cramped his ribs.

"That was _so stupid_ , Harry!" Hermione admonished, still trying to catch her breath. "What were you _thinking?_ You could have splinched us!"

Harry moaned and doubled over. "I think I did," he groaned as he held his chest tightly.

"Oh my god!" Hermione wailed, pulling Harry's arms away and running her hands down his chest. Harry gasped in pain and whined as her hand ran over his left side. "Harry, oh Merlin, oh god. You've lost a rib!" Hermione babbled, beginning to cry.

"It's fine," Harry muttered, hunched over in agony.

"It's _not_ fine!" Hermione screamed. "There _must_ be a medicine cabinet here!" She gasped as she stood quickly, head whipping around. "I'll be right back, Harry – don't move!"

Harry groaned in response and let her go, the sound of Hermione's footsteps disappearing into the depths of the house. He felt a wrecked sob pull from his chest, the wounds wracking his frame, both physical and emotional, ripping open his heart to pour blood and betrayal.

"He's one of them," Harry whispered to himself. "Of course, _of course._ How could I be so _stupid?_ "

"Found it!" Hermione's voice echoed out. The echoes of her footsteps neared loudly as she ran towards the entrance hall, Harry falling to his knees as she approached. He stretched out a hand to catch himself and moaned miserably, wrapping the other arm around his chest to support the splinched muscles and bone as it was jarred during his collapse.

"Harry, drink this, _please_ ," Hermione begged, pushing a vial against his lips. Harry acquiesced, letting the girl pour a sour, bitter potion through his lips. He cried out and arched, feeling the Skelegrow instantly take effect and his bones begin to shift, angling in preparation to regrow.

"And this – _please Harry_ – just one more," Hermione encouraged, pressing another vial against his lips. Harry sobbed but agreed, his entire body aching, his mind worn, his magic exhausted. Harry trusted her with his life, though, and he did as Hermione asked.

Once the sedation potion was poured down his throat, Hermione stroking his hair gently, Harry collapsed fully on the floor and whined as his rib and flesh began to regrow.

* * *

Harry awoke in Hermione's arms, the brunette wrapped around him warmly in the cold room. Harry's eyes peeled open and he watched his breath form icy puffs in the dark chamber. Light spilled lazily into the room, the beginnings of a strong sunrise after a night's storm. He turned over on a moulding mattress, realising Hermione had brought him up to a bedroom. He looked at the sleeping girl as stress creased her eyebrows, her face worn and tired even in sleep. She looked as if she had barely slept an hour and Harry immediately felt foolish for panicking and causing all this trouble.

Hermione opened her eyes blearily, feeling the weight of his gaze. She blinked at him uncomprehendingly for a few moments, before inhaling sharply and sitting up.

"Harry?" Hermione croaked. "Merlin, are you alright? How do you feel?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, smiling at her weakly. "Better. Thanks so much, 'Mione. Gods, I'm so sorry."

"What happened, Harry?" Hermione whispered into the cold room, the vapour from her breath evaporating with each puff.

"Dumbledore's been murdered," Harry answered hollowly, wincing at Hermione's gasp of horror. "By Snape. Draco was sentenced by Voldemort to kill Dumbledore. Snape made an Unbreakable Oath that he'd kill Dumbledore if Draco couldn't. I've been trying to break the oath but –" Harry's voice broke and he shuddered. "There's a Vanishing Cabinet in the Room of Requirement. Draco was told to fix it; its sister is in Borgin and Bourke's. It can transport people, if fixed correctly. Draco must have repaired it, without telling me. The Death Eaters have overrun Hogwarts, Hermione," Harry ended weakly, watching Hermione's face grow ashen at the declaration.

"He would have told you," Hermione stated into the dark room, surprising Harry at her defence of the blond. "Malfoy. I know he would have – there's no denying how he feels about you, Harry."

Harry scowled, pulling away from his best friend. "He must have, Hermione," Harry answered firmly, ignoring the tremor in his voice. "He must have."

Hermione looked doubtful, but gave up with a sigh. "What now?" She asked wearily.

"We have to find the Sword of Gryffindor. And the last horcruxes; one's in Bellatrix LeStrange's vault and the other is Voldemort's familiar. I don't even know where to start," Harry replied, posture slumped as he placed his head in his hands.

A tapping on the windowpane had both Hermione and Harry jumping in surprise. An owl fluttered outside of the window, agitatedly tapping to be let in.

"Should we…" Hermione began warily.

"I guess," Harry whispered. He raised his hand at the window and the pane cracked open. The owl took the invitation quickly and pushed through the opening. It dropped a letter at the foot of the bed, both wizard and witch watching intently, and then took off through the window from which it came.

"After you," Harry whispered into the room, nodding at the letter.

Hermione huffed. "As if. You're the lucky one," Hermione hissed.

Harry rolled his eyes and got off the bed, picking up the letter. It was made of the strange, leathery stationary trademark of Gringotts Bank and Harry's eyes widened. He returned to the bed and Hermione peered over his shoulder as Harry unwrapped the leather band.

 _"Heir Potter-Black, you are requested to attend Vove Vice of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore on the Seventh of January, 1996. Réspondez s'il vous plaît."_

The missive was short, to the point, and fairly brutal.

"Réspondez s'il vous plait?" Harry repeated again, slowly. "I didn't think the goblins were French."

"It means RSVP," Hermione answered distractedly, her mind clearly on other things. "We can use this, Harry!" Hermione declared suddenly, making Harry jump at her sudden outburst in the silent room.

"How?" Harry asked in surprise.

"We go to _Vove Vice_ , ask them to enter the vault, get the horcrux and get out of there. They'll agree to an early reading, they must – with enough gold, of course," Hermione rattled on. "Gringotts is undoubtedly under high security at the moment, especially with Hogwart's invasion. We'll only be able to get in with a reason and a will reading is perfect."

"Right now?" Harry asked unsurely.

"Now's better than never," Hermione answered firmly.

Harry nodded and they stood to pull on their shoes, Harry's ribs still aching from the trauma but the pain was easily compartmentalised. Once they had prepared everything they needed to face the goblins and LeStrange's vault, Harry wrapped himself and Hermione in his invisibility cloak, grateful he had the foresight to collect his expanding knapsack before kidnapping Hermione from the Ancestral House of Black. Hermione nodded at Harry as he looked at her in silent enquiry. Harry laced his fingers through Hermione's trembling hand and focused on the great entrance doors of Gringotts Bank, disapparating with a loud _crack!_

* * *

Hermione and Harry arrived on the footsteps of Gringotts Bank, the entrance doors sealed shut in the early morning light. Despite the loud _bang!_ echoing through the empty Diagon Alley, Harry wasn't worried; the cloak held firm around their frames and no one was around to hear their arrival.

Griphook opened the small entrance to the left of the enormous, majestic doors, the small portal Harry had gone through on his way to the ceremony of his Blood Inheritance. It felt like a lifetime ago, his life having changed so much since that fateful day.

Harry quickly pulled Hermione through the small entrance and Griphook closed the door, sealing the room in darkness. A silent _Lumos_ was cast and the ball of light illuminated the room. Once sure that they had not walked into a trap, Harry pulled the cloak off himself and Hermione.

"Griphook," Harry intoned quietly.

"We've been expecting you," Griphook responded without greeting. "Early reading of the _Vove Vice_?" The goblin asked, a glint in his eye.

"If that's not too much trouble," Harry agreed. "Please take the fees from my account."

Griphook merely smirked and lead them deep into the bank. "We don't have time to read the full will," the goblin announced once they stood in a dank meeting room. "In short, you have been gifted a snitch and the Sword of Gryffindor."

Hermione gasped, looking at Harry in surprise.

"Though the sword is hardly yours to have, or Dumbledore's to gift," the goblin sneered, looking at Hermione disgustedly. "That is goblin steel and we will see it returned."

"Of course," Harry answered quickly. "Once we have used it. It will be stronger for it, I assure you."

"Harry," Hermione warned, looking at Harry sharply.

"We don't have the sword," the goblin cut in, not taking his eye off Harry. "We believe this to be in the Headmaster's Office. This is the snitch."

Griphook's fist extended and a golden ball was dropped in Harry's outstretched hand. Harry looked at the snitch, recognising the ball from his first Quidditch game. The goblin watched him closely, beady eyes studying Harry's reaction.

"A snitch will remember it's snatcher," Griphook announced suddenly. "I would advise against losing this memento, Heir Potter-Black. Dumbledore was not a man to gift lightly."

Harry looked up in surprise at the goblin's words. "Thank you," Harry answered. The goblin merely sneered in response.

"You need to leave," Griphook stated abruptly. "We will be opening soon, for appointments only. It will not do to have you seen here."

"I'll give you the sword after I have finished my quest," Harry repeated firmly. "I swear." A bolt of light bloomed in the centre of the room and then imploded in on itself, sealing his words with magical intent.

Griphook looked at Harry out of the corner of his eye, watching the young wizard warily. "What do you want?" Griphook asked coldly.

"Ten minutes in Bellatrix LeStrange's vault," Harry answered firmly. "As Lord of her belongings, I have such right."

Griphook laughed then, a dark sound that chilled Harry's bones. "You have no rights in the sovereign property of Gringotts. You're in goblin territory, boy," Griphook cackled.

"Then I ask as a gesture of good will," Harry responded quickly. "I'll return the sword directly to you. You'll be known as the goblin that repatriated the Sword of Gryffindor."

Griphook paused at that. "Deal," the goblin sneered, reaching a hand out. Harry watched in surprise, never having shaken the creature's hand before. Harry quickly took the peace offering and the goblin smirked darkly.

"Follow me," Griphook demanded, Harry and Hermione quickly trotting behind him as the small creature nimbly navigated the labyrinthine corridors. The magicians were herded into a small, rickety cart and Hermione grabbed Harry's hand tightly as they rolled riotously into the depths of the bank.

The goblin stopped the cart before a large steel door, opening the vault with a stroke of his finger. "Ten minutes starting now," the goblin announced, stepping aside.

Harry and Hermione quickly ducked inside, wasting no time. Harry grabbed Hermione's forearm tightly, looking around the chamber in apprehension.

"Multiplying charm," Harry whispered as his magic recoiled from the sinister feel of the curse. "Don't touch anything."

Hermione nodded as Harry closed his eyes, reaching out his magic to ghost over the dark artefacts. An oily, greasy stench caught his attentions and Harry reopened his eyes slowly, focusing on a gleaming goblet on the top of a stack of gold.

"That one," Harry whispered, pointing to the cup. Hermione nodded and pulled a stick out of Harry's expanding knapsack. Harry had anticipated that the horcruxes would be warded against summoning, but most wizards and witches constantly underestimated the usefulness of muggle inventions. Harry had transfigured a broom handle into a rubbish grabber for handling the horcrux, the long arm displaying two large pinchers at the end. Hermione carefully reached up and squeezed the handle, the two pinchers coming together and grasping the cup.

Thankfully the cup didn't multiply, perhaps due to the fact the item used to collect it was purely muggle. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, turning slowly on the balls of her feet and placing the cup in a leather bag Harry held open.

"Leave the grabber here," Harry whispered. Hermione nodded and placed the transfigured stick on the floor, careful to not touch anything in the vault.

Hermione and Harry quickly made their way out of the chamber, nodding at Griphook as they climbed into the coal cart. Once they had returned to the surface, Griphook shooed the pair out of the cart and they were ushered to the small entrance door. As Harry wrapped the cloak around himself and Hermione, Griphook turned to them thoughtfully.

"You may find your answer in the Hog's Head," Griphook stated shortly. "I want that sword soon, boy."

Harry nearly nodded, but realised that the goblin wouldn't be able to see him. Harry clasped Hermione's wrist with a clammy hand, pulling her out of the bank side entrance before anything else could be said.

* * *

"The Hog's Head?" Hermione asked unsurely. "What does that mean? As in, Hogsmeade?"

"I don't know," Harry answered wearily. They had returned to the Black holiday house an hour before, pouring over the snitch and Griphook's cryptic words in an unused bedroom. While they mulled over the morning's events, Harry slowly unravelled the Trace on Hermione's wand and warded a cupboard to hold the horcrux.

"Well, I'll go ahead and scout," Hermione stated firmly.

Harry looked at her in surprise. "Absolutely _not_ ," Harry retorted angrily.

"Absolutely _yes_ ," Hermione quipped back. "You'll need to recover. Your magic is low, especially after side-apparating me from London to Scotland _three times_ in less than twelve hours _and_ warding the cupboard. Rest, Harry. I can defend myself now with my wand; you don't need to protect me all of the time."

Harry sighed at Hermione's fierce tone, realising he'd lost the battle before even beginning to fight. "Don't be gone for too long," he begged helplessly.

Hermione smiled at Harry and hugged him tightly. "I'll be back before sunset. If I don't return by dusk, _then_ you can come after me."

Harry nodded, smiling tiredly, and watched on as Hermione closed her eyes to focus. In her first attempt, Hermione disapparated effortlessly.

"Too clever, that girl," Harry muttered to himself.

"Indeed," a voice broke through the room. Harry jumped and turned around, magic sparking on his fingertips in defense.

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, blond hair ruffled and clothes torn. He looked wild, as if he had spent the night searching for Harry and Hermione. Harry blanched at the determined look in those silver eyes, handsome jaw set firmly and stance dangerous.

"How did you find me?" Harry breathed.

"The Stake," Draco answered impatiently. He strode into the room and sneered as Harry backed away quickly. "Don't play the victim with me. We both know you could turn me to dust if you wanted."

Harry frowned heavily. "Don't snark at me," Harry bit out. " _You're_ the one repairing vanishing cabinets for _Voldemort_ -"

"That's _not true!_ " Draco roared, frame trembling in barely suppressed fury. "How could you think – after all this time – that I'd go and do something like that – let those _assholes_ into Hogwarts?"

Harry was speechless, turning on his heel as Draco encircled him tightly. "I-" Harry stuttered, his mind blank.

"You're always so willing to think the worst of me. Haven't I proven myself to you yet?" Draco snarled.

"That's not fair-" Harry tried to say, spinning faster as Draco encircled him tighter with each step.

Draco leapt at Harry, tackling the smaller man with ease. Harry cried out as he hit the floor, his body still aching from his injury. Draco ground him into the wood panels, strong hands pinning Harry's wrists to the side. Harry bucked angrily, crying out in anger.

"Get off me you fucking _Death_ -" Harry screamed, arching against the floor.

Draco pressed even harder against Harry, his hips digging into Harry's waist and an arousal pressing firmly against Harry's lower abdomen as sharp teeth sunk into the Claim on Harry's shoulder. Harry's eyes widened to saucers at the sensation, his mind numbing in shock and words cut off instantly. Harry's body went limp in Draco's hold, the familiar beat of wardrums pulsing in his ears, head spinning with the sudden want and _need and –_

Draco released his jaws and moved his lips against Harry's mouth in a cruel mockery of a kiss, pushing harshly and slipping his tongue through Harry's sealed lips. Harry wanted to fight back and yell and scream until his own ears bled, but the need to fight singing in his veins evaporated as Draco ran a rough tongue over the roof of his mouth.

Harry felt his body submit to the blond helplessly, the hands on his wrists releasing their ironclad grip. Harry curled his fingers through Draco's soft locks, pulling harshly. Harry pulled Draco's lips off his own, yanking the blond's head back and clamping sharp teeth on Draco's neck. Draco cried out in surprise and pain, momentarily loosening his firm grip on the raven.

Harry flipped them over during Draco's brief distraction, sitting on the blond's stomach and biting ruthlessly until he could taste blood. The hot, coppery liquid poured into his mouth and Harry felt his eyes roll back in his head, a bolt of untamed pleasure shooting up his spine. Harry elvish instincts roared loudly in his mind, a loud purred erupting from his chest in sated pleasure.

" _Harry,_ " Draco whispered as the younger man's frame relaxed, mind spinning and slumping against the blond. "You're so fucked."

Harry blinked blearily, pulling back from the blond and staring confusedly at the Veela, small pearls of blood swelling and dripping down Draco's neck. Draco smirked at him then, a dangerous promise and threat glinting in his eye, and Harry was pulled up onto the bed with supernatural speed. Harry landed with an _oomph_ on the mattress and barely had time to catch his breath before Draco's mouth was on his.

Sharp nails shredded Harry's clothes as the kiss heated exponentially, Harry still reeling from his mind-numbing sedation. Harry curled his toes in pleasure as his shirt was ripped off, nails dragging down his chest viciously. The mouth against his nipped painfully, sharp canines clashing and Draco's tongue stroking against his harshly. Harry responded in kind, pulling of Draco's robes and ripping apart the buttoned shirt, running his hands over the flesh with a moan of approval.

Harry keened as his knees were pulled apart, Draco settling between them and grinding down harshly, heated arousals rubbing through layers of clothing.

"You're," Draco whispered, nipping his way down Harry's neck and bared chest. " _So totally fucked,_ " Draco breathed reverently against Harry's heated flesh. With a firm tug, Harry's trousers and pants were pulled off instantly.

Harry's mind imploded in pleasure, back arching and crying out into the room in loud desperation as Draco slowly unraveled him. Draco slowed his ministrations, gazing up through thick eyelashes to pierce Harry with a deliberate, pointed stare.

Harry shuddered into the kiss, barely holding out, Draco ran his hands under Harry's legs and lifted the raven's thighs over his shoulders. It was reverence, sweet homecoming after months of tense want.

Harry felt himself speak, babble, say _something_ but he couldn't decipher the words if his life depended on it, fingers still digging sharply into Draco's hair. Harry sobbed, " _God, Draco, fuck, fuck fuck -,"_ Harry's hands shot out to grab the duvet, shredding the soft fabric under the force of his elongated nails as Draco hit _something inside of him that – holy fuck -_

" _Merlin, Draco, you're going to be the death of me_ ," Harry breathed, tongue reverting from parseltongue to English as his mind jolted, shuddering in pleasure and stuttering over simple words.

Draco opened his eyes, molten silver swirling and reflecting the early light spilling into the room. Draco smirked, a dangerous expression, and hummed his agreement at the strange string of words. The bed groaned under Draco's fierce movements, and Harry arched helplessly, unable to do anything other than fight back, to claw and ground himself.

The world crashed around Harry, over too soon and too fast and too much -

Draco collapsed on Harry, tumbling over the edge with Harry, soft lips pressing against the rune of Claim on Harry's neck as the blond shifted the raven's legs to wrap around his waist. Harry held onto him tightly, trying to calm his spinning mind and catch his breath.

"So, so totally fucked," Draco murmured against Harry's flesh. Harry sighed, frowning at the blond's pleased tone, and ran his fingertips lightly down Draco's back. Harry felt thin, raised scars on the soft flesh and cracked open his eyes, looking down the muscled frame over Draco's shoulder. Eight long, emerald green lines cragged down Draco's back, marring his pale skin.

Harry wove a hand through Draco's hair, pulling the blond's head up to face his. "What're the scars from?" He asked tiredly, hooded eyes blinking heavily.

Draco smiled down at him, propping his frame up on his forearms. Draco leant forward and pressed a soft kiss to Harry's lips. "You weren't the only one marked in the Chamber of Secrets," Draco whispered back, his lips quirking in silent laughter. "That's your gift to me."

Harry's eyebrows drew together, considering his words. Harry recalled instantly that he'd dragged his nails down Draco's back, drawing blood, and though he felt terrible at scarring Draco, a bubble of pleasure burst in his chest at the thought of claiming his mate. "Merlin, Draco, I didn't know. I'm really –"

"Don't say you're sorry," Draco cut off, playfully nipping Harry's neck with sharp teeth. "I can hear you purring at the thought."

Harry stopped and realised he was purring, blushing horribly at the realisation. "I think more cat than elf," Harry whispered back exasperatedly, threading his fingers deeper through Draco's hair and holding the blond's head to his neck, tilting his head to provide the nipping teeth more access.

"What do you think you're doing?" Harry squawked as he was manhandled effortlessly, bent in half as Draco pulled Harry's legs over his shoulder once more. Harry felt his ankles hook around the blond's neck against his will and moaned into the ravaging kiss pressed against his mouth.

"The first time doesn't count. And seeing how quickly he was to believe I betrayed him, I'll need to show my cat how much I love him," Draco murmured back, pressing nipping kisses to Harry's lips between the words.

Harry felt his heart stop for a moment and then stutter back into life. "I… I love you too, Draco," Harry whispered into the room, face aflame with embarrassment.

"Mm, I know," Draco hummed back smugly. Harry rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off with a cry as Draco shifted. Harry pulled Draco's head to his, trying to distract himself from the pleasure and pain with a heated kiss.

"Fuck, I love you," Draco muttered against bruised lips and Harry felt himself melt at the pure, sweet words of reverence tumbling from Draco's tongue, basking in the blond's heat.


End file.
